


The Amazon Initiative

by G_N_Story



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - All Female, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Initiative, Avengers Tower, Bisexual Female Character, Cap was just thawed, Domestic Avengers, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/F, Female Bucky Barnes, Female Relationships, Female Steve Rogers, Female Tony Stark, Forgive Me, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, My first fic, Polyamory, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Iron Man 2, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Avengers (2012), The Avengers (2012) - Freeform, The Avengers (2012) Spoilers, Thor can change genders, Threesome - F/F/F, female avengers, female everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:00:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 141,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/G_N_Story/pseuds/G_N_Story
Summary: Director of SHIELD, Nicole Fury, had been inspired by the stories she had been told as a child of Captain America, the first female military officer.  To her, the story stuck because after the government turned Stephanie Rogers into a glorified chorus girl for over a year, Rogers had gone against orders and snuck behind enemy lines on a mission to save a captured unit.  She saved 137 soldiers, including a unit of female spies who had been operating in France when the 107th was captured and had attempted rescue themselves.  That group went on to become Rogers Howling Commandos, and they were Nicole’s heroes, and the inspiration for the Amazon Initiative.  What if all the Avengers were women?  And what if Nicole Fury decided to unite them because of it.  It's hard out there for a bitch, and Nicole Fury knows the world needs The Amazons.





	1. Stephanie Rogers: The Woman Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been a passionate lurker for years. I finally decided to nut up and write my own fic. I've wanted to write a fem!Avengers for a real long time. I just finally figured out how I would do it last night. Lots of fem!Stucky and fem!Stony ahead y'all. You've been warned. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I'll post more if you guys like it! The more you comment, the more motivated I'll be to write. 
> 
> For this chapter, I've done a bit of a mix between the movies and the comics, especially when Steph first wakes up. I also named Dr. Banner Jennifer because that's the first name of She-Hulk. And while I don't exactly have the headcanon of my fic's hulk looking or acting like She Hulk, I've just always loved the comic.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The Amazon Initiative started as a concept project. The brain child of Nicole Fury, the first female director of SHEILD, it started simple enough. The idea was to find and unite a team of extraordinary women, agents which could be called on in times of great need. Fury knew, more keenly than most, how long women had been fighting, in every great war, only to be minimalized or erased from history. As a woman of color setting precedents in the intelligence community, God knows she knew. Women were always underutilized, their talent squandered or, worse, credited to men. But Nicole Fury never did anything halfway. 

In all honesty, Fury had been inspired by the stories she had been told as a child of Captain America, the first female military officer. Of course, most other kids concentrated on the fact that she was a super soldier. Everyone knew the story: Dr. Erksine’s legendary serum had failed on every male participant the Super Soldier Program had. Stephanie Rogers had tried volunteering for the Army countless times, disguised as a male. She had been rejected every single time, until Erksine gave her the chance of a lifetime. It was a crapshoot, a hail mary, only approved because Howard Stark had agreed with Erksine that the serum may be failing due to the need of a genetic marker that most men lacked. Nobody thought the serum would actually work on the tiny, frail girl from Brooklyn with scraped up knees. And they definitely didn’t foresee Rogers becoming a hero.

But those were all minor details for a young Nicole. No, to her, the story stuck because after the government turned Rogers into a glorified chorus girl for over a year, Rogers had gone against orders and snuck behind enemy lines on a mission to save a captured unit. She saved 137 soldiers, including a unit of female spies who had been operating in Italy when the 107th was captured and had attempted a rescue themselves. That group went on to become Rogers’ Howling Commandos. They were Nicole’s heroes, and the inspiration for the Amazon Initiative. Of course, after Rogers’ death, the US Government had downplayed the Howling Commandos contributions to the war. Because, naturally, why would they admit that a group of women had taken down the Nazi Deep Science Reserve, Hydra, when they could just claim that they had actually just been shooting news reels and propaganda flicks in New York. Because America would never put women in harm, or trust them with anything important. It was thirty year before the truth was revealed: the Howling Commandos were real, and they were tough, and they scared the shit out of the Nazis, and they had almost single handedly brought down Hydra, and that both Rogers and her best friend, Sergeant Barnes, had given their lives for their country.

Stephanie Rogers had earned her commission and her rank. And it was years until another woman was given the chance to do so again. Even longer before a woman was “officially” allowed to serve in a combat role.

So the Amazon Initiative had started off simple enough. As Fury rose through the ranks, she had kept her eyes open for the kind of women she was looking for. She had never told anybody about her dream team, her pet project. Not until opportunity presented itself in the form of two extraordinary agents: Red Room trained, KGB defector Black Widow, and ex-assassin, weapons specialist Hawkeye. Once Fury was Director of SHIELD, she pulled the two women in privately to discuss the possibility of a team of exceptional female agents. But none of them imagined what the Amazon Initiative would become, couldn’t have possibly guessed. 

Fury had to admit, Toni Stark was a lot of things. Genius, self-absorbed, well known for her many dalliances and her “fuck you” attitude. But heroic was not something Fury really would have pegged her as. When she had been taken prisoner in Afghanistan, Fury had personally dispatched Black Widow to track down her whereabouts. Fury knew exactly why Toni had been targeted and taken by the Ten Rings organization. The Jericho Missile, like every piece of Stark Tech, was game changing. When Toni had been picked up wandering in the dessert, Fury had gotten suspicious. When Toni came out as the “Iron Man” on live television, the game wasn’t just changed, it was upturned. 

A new game had begun.

 

***

 

“The what Initiative?” Pierce asks incredulously. 

“Amazon. The Amazon Initiative,” Fury says, voice level.

“What the hell…” Pierce mutters, flipping dismissively through the thick folder on the desk in front of him. “Sit down, Nicole.”

Fury fidgets a bit before rigidly taking a seat in front of Pierce. 

“Look, Nicole,” Pierce sighs. “You know that nobody has more respect for you than I—you saved my daughter’s life—but…” he looks down at the first page, “there are already incentives in place for recruiting female agents.”

“This isn’t about recruiting female agents,” Fury interrupts. “I’ll admit that’s how it started out but it’s much more than that now. This is about utilizing the extraordinary talent that has revealed itself in the recent years. I already have a number of members in mind.”

“You want me to present this to the Council with,” Pierce looks down at the page in front of him now, “with _Stark_ in charge? Are you kidding me? Have you met the woman? She’s uncontrollable. There have been countless congressional hearings regarding her actions of late.”

“That’s exactly why this program is needed. Instead of Stark and those like her fighting against the government, they can be working for us.”

“But you specify that you want this to be a team of women and-“

“Because extraordinary talent isn’t just reserved for men,” Fury snaps. She takes a breath to steady herself before continuing. “It doesn’t have to be exclusively women. But right now there is a great number of women doing incredible work. Stark, Banner, Black Widow, Hawkeye, just to name a few. We need them. We need their work. And we need them to be united, for us, with a common goal. And we need to encourage the other women across the globe to come out of the woodwork. Because if they don’t join us, they will be utilized by our enemies, and you know that that is a fact.” Fury pauses, turning her head to take in Pierce with her good eye. “Right now, exceptionally talented women are being discouraged and underutilized. And that’s just plain unintelligent. If our forecasts are right, we’re going to need all hands on deck in the upcoming decades.”

Pierce sighs, dry washing his face. 

“So let me get this straight? You want me to sell this circus sideshow of…of trouble making, pressure-cookers to the Council so that the US can become a beacon to the other misfits of the world because women’s rights?”

“That’s an over simplification,” Fury replies tersely. 

“Alright. I’ll read this. And I’ll talk to the Council but I know they won’t go for Stark being team captain.”

“That’s alright,” Fury says, fighting the smile that wants to tug up the corner of her lips, “I have another candidate in mind. Just got word that she might be available this morning.”

 

***

 

“BUCKY!”

The techs around the table jumped. 

“What the hell did she just say?” one of the techs cries.

The machines in the room are whining. The heart rate monitors jump fifty BPM in a matter of seconds. 

“Is she conscious?” another tech asks in awe.

They stare down at Stephanie Rogers. She’s panting now, chest heaving frantically. Her eyes are still closed though and her core temperature is still dangerously low. Generous estimates didn’t have her regaining consciousness, yet her brain waves are showing signs of activity.

“What did she say though?” the first tech asks at the same time that a doctor rushes through the door shouting about needing to sedate Rogers.

“Don’t you know anything?” the other tech hisses. “Bucky, she said ‘Bucky.’”

The submarine finding the body of Captain Rogers had been miraculous. When the body had thawed and a heartbeat was picked up had been a literal miracle. Rogers had arrived at the specialized SHEILD medical facility in Greenland not even an hour earlier. The hope to finding any kind of brain activity or function had been slim. Most of the doctors had been sure that she would be completely brain dead. Those same doctors are swarming the room now, shouting over each other. The techs fall back.

“Who’s Bucky?” the first tech asks under his breath.

“Christ. Ever read a history book? Or watched a cartoon? Jesus,” the other tech mumbles. 

On the table, Rogers is regaining muscle function, and she’s beginning to twitch. 

“This is…” is all that an awestruck Dr. Reynolds can mutter as she looks back and forth between Captain Rogers and the brain wave monitor. 

“We need a serum expert,” another doctor is saying.

“A serum expert? What is this? 1945?” Dr. Reynolds scoffs. “Good luck getting Jennifer Banner out of hiding, because she’s the only ‘expert’ in this field that I know of.”

When Steph opens her eyes, she’s certain that she’s been captured by Hyrda. 

“Where am I?!” she shouts, sitting bolt upright.

The people around her are talking, but she can’t hear them. Steph stumbles blindly from the table.

“Answer me!” she demands, fighting against the hands that are suddenly on her.

“…marine. You were in the ice.” 

Sound comes and goes and her vision is blurry.

“…said hold her!”

“Who are you?!” Steph croaks, throat dry, and suddenly she’s so so cold. “Wait…” she gasps, crashing into something, shoving away a body blindly. There’s something she has to do, she knows it. She tries to remember where she is, what the last thing to happen was, but her brain is moving slow. 

“B-Bucky,” Steph mumbles. There’s a memory swimming at the edge of her mind. Bucky frozen in mid-air and with that image, pain, so much pain. Steph’s energy is leaving her quickly and her already unsteady legs begin to fail.

“Captain Rogers, please!”

There’s a door. She’s reaching for the handle, fighting off another pair of hands. 

Steph doesn’t feel the needle prick. She’s through the door now, stumbling down a brightly lit hallway. Shocked faces stare at her. 

“…don’t understand…should have brought her down….again…STOP HER!”

Another prick. That one she does feel. But it doesn’t matter. Steph turns only quick enough to see the wide eyes of a woman holding a hypodermic needle before everything fades into a fuzzy black.

 

***

 

When Steph opens her eyes, she’s staring up at a fan spinning lazily. There are memories skittering across the edges of her mind, but she can’t grasp them long enough to hang onto them, and they slip away. She can hear a radio playing somewhere in the room, and the sound makes her head pound. Steph’s entire body aches, aches like it used to in the winters before the serum, when pneumonia inevitably took hold and when money was too short to keep the apartment very warm. And she feels like somebody beat her over her head with a bat. Has she been drugged? She’s still trying to remember but her mind is moving slow. 

The room spins when she sits up. Steph grips the edge of the bed and waits until her head stops swimming to turn and take in her surroundings. The room she’s in is small and clean, with not much in it besides the bed, a few chairs, and a vanity that holds the offending radio. It looks like a hospital room. There are windows through which sunlight pours, and she can see a building. She listens more closely to the radio, realizing it’s announcing a Dodgers game. A Dodgers game that sounds familiar. 

The door to the room opens and a woman with a soft smile slips into the room. Steph grips the edge of the bed a little tighter. The woman is crisp and clean, just like the room.

“Good morning,” the woman says softly before checking her watch. “Or should I say afternoon.”

“Where am I?” Steph asks immediately. 

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City.”

The woman is too perfect. The room is too perfect. Everything is soft and perfect, it’s almost aggressively perfect. It feels manufactured. And the smell. There’s a smell, like nothing Steph’s ever scented before. It’s industrial and sour and beyond the white noise Steph knows is being played over an unseen speaker, she can hear a humming. Steph looks around again, still chasing a memory in her mind. She can remember faces, shouting, her own scrambling away from hands grabbing her. And before that…cold, and fear, and a black so inky and all-consuming she was sure it was hell.

“Where am I really?” Steph asks, voice low, dangerous.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the woman says, smiling sweetly. It’s too much, too fake.

“The game,” Steph growls. “It’s from May, 1941, I know because I was there.” The woman’s face drops. Steph stands and begins to prowl towards her. “So I’ll ask you again, where am I?”

“Captain Rogers,” the woman warns.

“ _Who are you?!_ ”

The door behind the woman opens and two men enter. They’re wearing all black like nothing Steph has ever seen. They’re coming for her. Both grab an arm, but Steph turns and throws them easily. The wall crumbles effortlessly when they hit, they go right through, and Steph doesn’t wait for them to recover before she bounds through after them. She jumps over their bodies and freezes when she sees what is beyond.

The hospital room wasn’t a room at all, but a set up, a stage inside a larger room. Steph rushes towards the door as the woman calls after her. The doors burst open and Steph finds herself in a hallway, one side of which is entirely glass. There are people, lots of them, and the voice of the woman shouting through speakers. Everyone turns and they all start to move towards Steph. She doesn’t think. Shoving blindly, Steph barrels down the hall, knocking people out of her way. She runs until she finds another set of doors and she shoves through them as well.

Outside is…this has to be a dream or a hallucination or a trick. Is this Hydra? The buildings rise so high she can’t see the tops, all around her, as far as the eye can see. There are vehicles but they’re like nothing Steph has ever seen before. There are more people. Steph panics and she pushes them out of the way and stumbles into the street. The vehicles blare their horns but Steph doesn’t stop. She’s running, as fast as she can. 

This is a dream, it has to be a dream. Everything is overwhelming. It’s loud, the humming she heard before is now a roar, and the industrial, metallic smell is nauseating. The tall buildings never seem to end. Everywhere around her are people dressed like she’s never seen, loud sounds, bright lights. She veers to the left and suddenly she’s in the middle of a square. She spins to take it in, to get her bearings. It’s massive and there’s moving pictures all around her, like movie screens but enormous and in vivid color, and it’s all…familiar, somehow familiar yet so foreign. 

Steph turns, and turns again. She’s panting, frantic, and afraid so afraid. Shiny black vehicles surround her.

“At ease, soldier.”

Steph turns. A woman stands before her. She’s dressed in all black, with a black trench coat, and a black eye patch. Dark complexion, no hair, it’s bizarre. And she’s standing there like she holds all the answers in the universe, hands behind her back, taking in Steph with her good eye as more people in all black with some kind of weapons surround Steph. 

The woman with the eyepatch holds up a hand and the others stand down, they turn and make a perimeter, start blocking onlookers. The woman drops both her arms and marches straight up to Steph.

“Look, I’m sorry about that little show back there,” the woman says plainly. “We thought it best to break it to you slowly.”

Steph is still panting, so confused and afraid that she doesn’t know what to think.

“Break what?” Steph gasps.

The woman takes a breath, leveling Steph with a serious stare.

“You’ve been asleep, Cap,” she says, “for almost seventy years.”

Steph can barely process the information. She feels herself deflate. What does that even mean? That can’t be right. It can’t be possible. Steph looks around. The square, it looks so familiar. She turns to take it all in again, so many flashing colors everywhere she looks. Onlookers muttering questions. Buildings touching the clouds. The future? It’s not possible.

“You gonna be okay?” 

Steph could cry. She really could. It’s all too much.

“Yeah…” she mutters, “yeah, I just…I had a date.” It’s nonsense, she doesn’t know what she’s saying, she can barely think, it’s all more than she can handle. She’s dead or dreaming, none of this can be real. Her family. Her friends. Her soldiers. Peggy. Bucky.

Bucky.

Bucky…Bucky died. Steph couldn’t catch her and

Steph swallows. The woman with the eyepatch is talking, then she’s shouting. Steph didn’t even realize she was moving again but suddenly she feels herself darting between vehicles and bodies. She has to get home. She has to wake up and get home. All she knows to do is to run, get away, she has to get away. She doesn’t even know how long she’s been running, she doesn’t know where she is, she doesn’t know if people are still chasing her. The city never ends, the crowds never end, the absolute onslaught of vehicles never ends. 

Suddenly, Steph hears a scream. She skids to a stop, searching for the source of the sound. To her left is an alleyway and at the end she can see several men throwing a girl against the wall, grabbing for her purse. Steph’s brain is still moving slow, she’s turning down the alleyway, she’s not thinking. Her mind focuses on what she can see, slipping into automatic as she charges towards the culprits. She doesn’t even stop, just barrels full force at one of the guys, and he goes flying. When she stops, another one is holding a gun.

“Gun?” Steph mutters. “How old are you kids?”

The kid shoots. He misses, but it makes Steph jump. She punches, knocks him out cold, tosses the other into the wall and now she’s face to face with the victim. The girl looks about sixteen.

“No no no no don’t hurt me!” the girl sobs. “Whoever you are, get back, don’t touch me!”

“It’s okay,” Steph hears herself say. “You’re safe, just take my hand.”

The girl reaches into her purse. When she withdraws her hand, she’s holding a pistol, and she’s aiming it at Steph. It doesn’t make any sense. Another gun shot and Steph numbly feels the bullet hit her in the gut. The girl scrambles to her feet, scooping up plastic wrapped bricks that are scattered on the ground and runs.  
Something warm is running down Steph’s front. She reaches down and pulls her hand back bloody. It’s not a moment later that she’s on the ground. She stares up at the sky. It’s perfectly blue, just a sliver between the tall buildings. Steph sighs. Maybe now she can wake up.

Maybe now she can see Bucky.

Everything goes black.

 

***

 

“Shh, it’s just shell shock, soldier. God is with you.”

The nurse’s quiet words are barely heard over the litany of pain moans and agonized screams that fills the room.

“Malaria, it’s common on this battlefield…”

“…stupid kid, went and danced with a bouncing betty—I NEED SOME MORPHINE!”

“INCOMING!”

“…lousy stinking Jerries, they’re animals…”

The hospital reeks of blood and gun powder. But Steph only has eyes for one patient. Bucky grumbles, shoving Steph’s shoulder playfully. 

“How many times I gotta tell ya? I’m fine, Rogers, give a girl a break.”

A hand lands on Steph’s shoulder and she looks up at a nurse.

“You really need to lay back down, honey—someone get Dr. Dysart in here. Dr. Dysart! You’ll wanna see this one!”

Steph turns to look at Bucky, but Bucky’s gone. Steph looks back up at the nurse.

“I’m stunned she can even sit up, look at how out of it she is!”

Steph is pushed back against pillows. She looks around at the field hospital, but it’s gone too. She can still smell blood and gun powder.

“Is this a hospital? I…don’t remember coming here?” Steph mutters.

“You were shot,” the nurse says calmly, shining a light in Steph’s eyes. “Keep asking if we won the war. Which war? The war on drugs?” the nurse chuckles to himself. 

“The…Axis,” Steph says slowly. She’s remembering a woman with an eyepatch. 

“The Exes?” the nurse asks. “You got some kind of nasty ex-boyfriend?” Another nurse is in the room now, a woman with long black hair pulled into a tight bun, dark skin, and square glasses. She leans over Steph.

“With the angle of the bullet, you’re lucky it didn’t do extensive damage. But you still should be knocked out,” the woman says crisply. 

“I heal pretty quickly, but thank you for your expert opinion, nurse,” Steph slurs, batting away the hands on her.

The woman straightens and puts her hands on her hips.

“Nurse?” she snaps. “I’m a doctor.”

“Really?” Steph muses.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Nothing!” Steph says defensively, a warm smile spreading across her face. “It’s just nice to see.”

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Hey, Doc!”

Steph looks up. Bucky leans into the room through the door. The doctor looks up at her.

“There’s some, uh, feds in the lobby…you probably wanna come out here,” Bucky says cautiously, not looking at Steph.

“Buck!” Steph says happily, shoving herself to her feet. Bucky looks at her. “I was so worried about you!”

Bucky gives Steph a quizzical look.

“Uh, lady, I think one of us is very confused.”

“Tell me about it,” the doctor replies, hurrying from the room. “Don’t let her leave.”

Bucky moves into the room as the doctor and the other nurse leave.

“I think you oughta sit down,” Bucky says cautiously. 

Steph has to admit, standing is difficult, so she concedes and falls back to the bed. She’s feeling a bit dizzy.

“They must have given you a lot of the good stuff,” Bucky offers, leaning against the wall.

“Can you believe it?” Steph smiles. “A _colored, woman_ doctor? That’s…it’s amazing.”

“Whoa, lady, where are you from?”

“Don’t play, Buck. You got so heated when Connie Neeves wasn’t allowed into medical school. ‘Member when we met her at the suffragettes meeting? I wonder what happened to her, we oughta look her up when we get back to Brooklyn.”

“Honey, you wouldn’t catch me dead in Brooklyn.”

Steph frowns up at what used to be Bucky but is now a brown haired, angry looking nurse. She doesn’t have time to process before the door to the room is flying open, and the woman with the eyepatch is marching in.

“Out.”

The brunette nurse is more than happy to comply. As Steph stares up at eyepatch, her memory is jogged. She sinks into the bed.

“So I haven’t woken up from this crazy dream,” she mumbles, mostly to herself.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a dream, Captain,” the woman says seriously. “And I’m afraid I failed to introduce myself before you ran off again—and got yourself _shot_ , I might add—I’m Nicole Fury, director of SHIELD, or what you might remember as the Strategic Scientific Reserve.”

“You know Peggy?” Steph asks, perking up. The motion causes a lot of pain in her abdomen, and she flinches. “Well…knew, I suppose, if this is the ‘future.’”

“You’re on a lot of pain killers right now. We can discuss all of this in depth later, but right now we need to get you to a safe compound. Words not gotten out yet about your…recovery. But after the stunt you just pulled, you’re sure to get plenty of YouTube hits.” Fury doesn’t pause to explain whatever the hell that means. “We’ll get you patched up then you and I are going to have a very _long_ talk.”

***

“They called me your _secretary_ again. I don’t know—Toni! Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm?” Toni says, poking her head up and looking at Pepper through the lens of her welding mask. “Yeah of course, babe.”

Pepper levels a look at Toni. With as small a sigh as possible, Toni drops the torch in her hand and flips the visor up on her mask. 

“I told you, Peps, they won’t take you seriously until you start dating models. I’ve got Mr. July of the NYFD calendar on speed dial if you’d like.”

Pepper gives Toni a flat look.

“Just an offer.”

“I don’t think being seen cheating on you would help that much,” Pepper replies, tone softening a bit. 

“Well, it doesn’t really count as cheating when you’re open. If you’d like, we could fuck him together, really get the tabloid rags buzzing. I haven’t had a good scandal in, like, four months.” Pepper rolls her eyes and Toni knows that she’s won. “I’m sorta past due.”

“I thought we agreed no scandals until after Easter,” Pepper teases, pushing herself up from the stool she’d been propped on. Toni groans dramatically. 

“You know asking me to go five months without a scandal is like asking me to go five months without sex, it’s scientifically impossible.”

“Mmm, you poor deprived soul,” Pepper teases, moving around the bench to get closer.

“Ms. Stark,” JARVIS interrupts briskly. “There is something that you may want to see.”

Pepper leans against the work bench.

“One of your Google alerts?” Pepper asks.

“Uh!” Toni gasps indignantly. “JARVIS is far more sophisticated than Google. He’s a very complex AI and happens to be one of my best friends.”

“That’s just sad,” Pepper laughs.

“Are you going to stand here and take that, JARVIS?” Toni asks.

“Ma’am, as I have no corporal form, I am not actually standing anywhere.”

“See that?” Toni says, motioning dramatically with her hands, causing one of her leather gloves to fly off. “Sarcasm. You think Google can do sarcasm?”

“Ms. Stark, I think you will be keenly interested in this update.”

Toni stands, stretching to pop her joints back into place before yanking the mask off her head, tossing the remaining leather glove after it for good measure.

“Alright, J, show me what you’ve got.”

A holo flicks up nearby. It’s a video. Toni settles beside Pepper, eyes on the screen. The videos are short and a bit unremarkable. A tall, blonde woman in a too-tight T-shirt running barefoot through New York. Toni has to admit that she's fast though. And she appears to be able to jump cars pretty easily. The last one shows the woman being confronted by Director Fury herself.

“She’s cute, J, but I don’t really need you to find me dates, J. I think I’ve got it covered,” Toni remarks, winking at Pepper. “Definitely my type though. Good eye.”  
The video zooms into the woman. She’s got broad shoulders, a slim but toned frame, narrow hips and long, muscular legs. Her blonde curls are loose and fall wildly across her shoulders. A sheen of sweat sets on her skin. Her jaw has a strong, stubborn set about it and her blue eyes are piercing. And something about her seems painfully familiar.

“Ma’am, facial recognition identifies this as Stephanie Grace—“

“No,” Toni breathes, standing up.

“What?” Pepper asks, twisting to look at Toni.

A deep crease settles between Toni’s eyebrows as she stares at the paused video. 

“Toni?” Pepper prods. “What is it?”

“JARVIS, how is this possible?” Toni asks in almost a whisper, ignoring Pepper.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, ma’am. If I had to wager a guess I would assume that the SHIELD submarines you had me look into found what they were searching for,” JARVIS replies crisply.

“What submarines?” Pepper is getting annoyed now.

Toni’s eyes flick back and forth between the screen and her girlfriend for a moment before she shifts her weight, clearing her throat.

“Monday night SHIELD launched three search and recovery submarines, destination deep Artic,” Toni begins, bounding across the room suddenly to dig through the piles of papers on her desks. “And, you know me, photographic memory, well I recognized the coordinates.” Triumphantly, Toni snatches up the paper she was looking for. She hands it to Pepper. “In 1945, my dad sent subs to those same coordinates, looking for the crash site of one Hydra, specialized aircraft, the Valkyrie.”

Pepper gasps, realizing what Toni is saying.

“They didn’t find the Valkyrie,” Toni continues. “They found _something_ , but the information has since been redacted, but I’m me and obviously I figured out what it was and when it was confiscated by the SSR, but that’s neither here nor there, no the important part is what they _didn’t_ find. When these subs were launched three days ago, I had JARVIS keep an eye on them and last night, there was a hit.”

Toni spins, flicking her hand across the holo screen to bring up a report. The report scrolls to the bottom to the attached photo.

“No,” Pepper says softly, eyes going so wide that Toni can see the shield in the picture reflected in them.

“Yes, they recovered the since thought lost body of one Captain Stephanie Rogers, better known as Captain America,” Toni declares dramatically.

“But-but…that video? _How?_ ” Pepper cries.

“I don’t know!” Toni says. Pepper raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Okay, well I don’t know _for sure_ , but I can guess.” She’s back to flicking through images on the screen. With her back turned, still searching, she begins to speak again. “The only successful trial of Dr. Erksine’s ‘Super Soldier Serum’ was Stephanie Rogers in 1941. Erksine was killed only moments after the success, I know because my father was there and it was his favorite goddam story to tell. I’m pretty sure he had the hots for Rogers. Anyway, as far as anyone knows, no other replications of the serum have been successful. In 2009, Jennifer Banner attempted her own recreation on herself, and we know how _that_ went. And during World War 2, plenty of other countries were trying to replicate the serum, especially after Rogers started kicking their asses. Hydra came close, but every one of their test subjects, which were captured POW’s by the way, died within a week. Johann Schmit—the Red Skull—was the only other ‘success’ and, obviously, he went fucking insane from the effect. In ’48, the Soviets started getting real interested in the serum themselves. But they had a few _special_ modifications that they were designing it for. Obviously, everyone wants a super soldier, but the Russians wanted one whose strength not only applied to their musculoskeletal system, but to their nervous system as well.” Toni finally finds what she’s looking for, a series of reports and black and white pictures. 

“A lot of their reports were deep sixed after the fall of the Soviet Union, but those that remained showed that their interests were in an aggressive form of brain washing. Trials on normal humans left them comatose or dead. They wanted the serum to be able to repair the nervous system quickly enough to make this form of classical conditioning and pain center stimulation brain washing and memory erasure effective. They basically wanted to turn their super soldiers into living robots, into weapons. And _then_ they wanted to make them eternal.”

Toni turns dramatically. Pepper recognizes the manic look in her eyes that means that Toni’s come to a conclusion that she thinks is obvious but doesn’t realize normal people don’t get. Pepper gives her a quizzical look.

“Cryogenics!” Toni cries, throwing up her hands.

“That’s…it doesn’t work,” Pepper says slowly, knowing fully well that she is about to be proven wrong.

“No, it doesn’t. Not on an average human. The _body_ can be frozen rather easily. Tissue can recover to full functionality after a flash freezing episode. The trick is freezing the cell walls before the cells become hypertonic, effectively killing the tissue and damaging the DNA. So the freezing process has to be immediate and instantaneous. We do it with transplant organs all the time. But the same can’t be said for the brain. The nervous system, the nerves and brain cells, they’re just too delicate, they die when they’re frozen, full functionality can’t be reestablished. The Soviets wanted to be able to _freeze_ their brain washed super soldiers, put them in suspended animation, taking them out when they were needed, storing them when they weren’t.” Toni pauses, chewing her lip. “It’s a genius idea, really. They’d only need to make and brain wash enough super soldiers for a single army, not generations of them. And they wouldn’t have to maintain a standing super soldier force, because that would be difficult and _expensive_. It’s genius.” Toni glances at Pepper. “But totally barbaric. To do to a person, a human being,” she adds quickly.

“So, you’re lengthy explanation was a way of telling me that…the serum helped Stephanie Rogers survive in suspended animation for sixty eight years?” Pepper asks.

“It’s…unlikely. Yet that seems to be the case.” The screen flicks back to the blonde’s face. Toni stares at it for a long time. “I mean, if that _is_ actually Stephanie Rogers and not some freaky clone or look alike that SHIELDs got prancing around New York. Then, yes, that’s the only explanation. The Soviets were never able to recreate Erksine’s formula. Not exactly. There’s evidence that they might have had successful trials, but I don’t know what happened with them. However, the Soviets did realize that Erksine’s serum _already_ compensated for the healing factors needed in the nervous system. They wanted to add to it though, make it possible for somebody to survive the process hundreds of times. But…” Toni chews her lip again. “The Valkyrie hit the water fast enough to achieve a depth deep enough that, if the hull filled with water quickly enough, and _if_ Rogers’ brain activity had already been reduced—if she had been knocked out maybe—and _if_ the water in the hall stayed stagnant enough—so if the ship was caught in a glacier, for example—then yes, the conditions may have been conducive to proper cryogenic stagnation. And if the thawing process was done quickly enough, and the right fucking way, with the increased healing factor that the serum grants then…in a word…yes. Stephanie Rogers— _the_ Captain America—could still be alive and running around downtown at this very moment.”

Pepper sighs heavily before standing, smoothing her skirt as she goes. Toni turns from where she’s been staring at the picture of Stephanie Rogers’ face.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting me to get into contact with Agent Coulson?” Pepper asks.

Toni smiles wide. She closes the distance between them quickly, hooking an arm around Pepper, supporting her weight as Pepper loses her perfect balance on her heels and stumbles into Toni’s chest. Toni plants a wet kiss on Pepper’s lips before spinning her out of her arms and giving her a dashing grin.

“I have the greatest girlfriend a woman could ask for,” Toni declares.

Pepper rolls her eyes, tugging her hand free from Toni’s. Toni drops into a chair, letting it roll backwards until it bumps against one of her desks.

“The greatest,” she repeats. 

Pepper can’t help but roll her eyes again as she turns to head towards the door of the workshop. 

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” Pepper calls over her shoulder. 

“No promises,” Toni shoots back, situating herself behind a nearby computer.

Once she hears the door of her workshop close, Toni cracks her knuckles. 

“Alright, JARVIS,” Toni says. “Lock the doors. And let’s figure out where Miss Rogers is now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

***

 

The internet was a lot to handle. When Fury had first told Steph that she was giving her a computer, Steph had asked why she needed to do math. When Fury had dropped a square piece of plastic in Steph’s lap, Steph had only been able to marvel at the future. Steph had only ever seen one computer in the forties, at the Stark Expo. It had belonged to Howard Stark and had taken up the space of a closet and everyone had gathered in closer to wonder at it. “It’s so small!” everyone had said. It had been an oddity, like everything else at the Expo. The presenter had rambled on about the possible applications, but Steph had been more interested in the next display.

“Are you going to give me a flying car next?” Steph asked when Fury had obliged and shown Steph how the damned thing worked. 

“We’ll get to that later,” Fury had only grunted. “Next, you’ll get a phone.”

“Who on earth do you think I have to call?”

Fury had only rolled her eyes.

Because apparently, the “laptop” wasn’t even the smallest computer around. No, in the future, computers fit in the palm of your hand and look like a piece of transparent glass.

“How…” was all Steph could muster when the poor agent who had been assigned to teach Steph how to use the “phone” handed it to her. Steph was able to answer her own question though, because when she flipped the piece of glass over, a single word was etched into the back.

STARK

“Of course,” Steph mutters. But that reminds her of something.

“Is Howard still alive?” Steph asks, looking up at the agent whose name she thinks was Brooks. 

“Howard? Howard Stark?” Brooks asks.

“Yeah, he was a-a friend.” 

“No, he died in the nineties.”

Steph doesn’t know why she keeps bothering to ask if people she knew are still alive. Because the answer is no, they’re all dead. And repeatedly reminding herself of that fact only hurts.

“That’s too bad, he was a genius,” Steph sighs. “His company though? They made this?”

Brooks nods. “Toni Stark, Howard’s daughter designed it. She’s even more of a genius than her father was. But you can find all of that out and more once I show you how to work this thing.”

“He had a daughter? That’s-…that’s good for him. I’m happy. Did he get married?”

Brooks nods but offers nothing more.

Apparently, it was expected that once Steph was given access to the internet, she would just sit around and read stuff for days on end. Steph couldn’t imagine that that would be the case, yet everyone was still acting like the internet was magic.

Steph was wrong with that assumption as well.

Because they were right, the internet _is_ magic. It’s like a library with every piece of information ever, pictures and videos included, all in high definition and vivid color. _Any_ question Steph had could be answered there. All she had to do was type the question into a little white bar, and suddenly there were _thousands_ of pages of answers.

It was all a little overwhelming. And it took Steph a real long time to get used to the tiny keyboard. She hadn’t even used a typewriter very many times before. She had been pressured into taking a typing class along with her art classes, but she had hated it then and it was even harder now. 

Steph wondered why these tiny computers were called phones in the first place, but supposedly that was a question that could be answered on the internet as well. 

“Because they started out as just wireless phones, the computer was added later. Just…look it up online,” Brooks had grumbled.

This phone also had more applications besides being able to make calls and look up endless information, but Steph stopped Brooks before he could launch into the “apps.” 

“Just-I’ll take your advice. Just give me a few minutes to ‘look things up,’” Steph had sighed. Brooks had left gratefully.

Steph stared at the formidable white bar before clumsily typing in “Franklin D Roosevelt.”

An hour later, another agent named May found Steph crying silently in her room, huddled against the wall.

“Did you-…did you look up your family?” May asks softly. 

Steph glances up at May with wide eyes and May can see the terror flash through her baby blues quickly, disappearing once Steph swallows and drops her gaze.

“No…I…I, no,” Steph breaths. May reaches out, but Steph flinches when she touches her shoulder gently. The phone is discarded nearby, so May picks it up. When she unlocks the screen, she’s met with the Wikipedia page for FDR. May frowns. “He was our leader,” Steph offers, sounding small as her eyes land on the screen. “He got us through the war to end all wars and he-he didn’t even live to see it. It’s just so…cruel.”

May sighs. She had heard about the Level 5 asset, had been surprised to be assigned to the detail, and had caught wind of plenty of rumors. Fury herself had pulled Mays into her office. Mays had been working desk jobs since her mental breakdown, but she was friends with Romanoff, and Black Widow had been dogging May about getting back in the field. “Fury is working on something big. You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. But she’s looking for women like you.” Mays had agreed, reluctantly, to go on a short list of go-tos. Still, it had been a surprise when Fury had called her in to assign her to a super-secret detail. Brooks might not have known or believed the rumors, but May knows exactly who the woman before her is. And it’s heartbreaking. Like most kids, May had grown up watching “Captain America and the Howling Commandos.” Like most kids, she had been taught about Stephanie Rogers and Jamie Barnes in history class. They had changed the course of World War 2, had changed history. Hell, without them, May might not even be where she is today. The ban on women in combat roles was hard to uphold in the 1995 hearing when there was Stephanie Rogers and the Howling Commandos to hold up and say, “ _See?!_ ”

It was still unclear how _the_ Captain America was huddled on the floor in front of May now, but May had seen stranger. She couldn’t even imagine being in the same position, realizing that everything and everyone you knew was gone and there was no way to get any of it back. So May sits done gently next to Steph, leaning against the wall and turning sympathetic eyes towards her.

“Did you know him? Personally?” May asks.

Steph swallows. “I had met him a couple of times. I would have voted for him but…you know,” Steph motion’s half-heartedly with her hand, glancing over at May. May keeps her face trained, nodding gently. Steph continues. “He was a great leader. And he had polio too, you know? Not a lot of people knew that. He…” Steph pauses to smile, “he never let it stop him. That’s what inspired me to try to join. Everyone told me I couldn’t or shouldn’t, that I would get hurt, that I was too weak, that I couldn’t contribute. But when I heard that the President was in a wheel chair, well I had no excuse. I had to do something…” Steph drops her head. “It’s not that…It’s not really…” Steph glances up at May again, distressed. She can’t find the words to say what she’s thinking but May is patient. “I think I thought that somehow…somehow this would all be a dream. This would all turn out to be a bad dream. That’d I’d wake up in the barracks somewhere, or in a hospital in ’44. But then I saw that. I read that and I read about everything after and I-I saw the dates and-“ Steph’s face twists desperately.

“You realized that it was real,” May offers gently.

“Yeah,” Steph sighs, dropping her head again.

May watches Steph carefully for a moment. It might be a stretch, she might get eaten out for it by Fury later, but she wasn’t going to sit here and let Captain America wallow.

“The internet is a lot to handle,” May says. Steph nods miserably. “I’m sure you’re curious about everything that’s happened since you’ve been gone. I think the internet might be a bit too overwhelming. How do you feel about museums?” 

Steph perks up. A museum. She can do a museum. In fact, she loves museums. 

“A crash course, just you and me,” May says with a smile, earning a small grin from Steph. May climbs to her feet. “Plus, I have a feeling you’ll like DC.”

That’s how, two hours later, Melinda May has a borrowed Quinn Jet and one Stephanie Rogers, dressed in a hoodie, jeans, and a ball cap, in Washington DC, walking across the National Mall from the underground airstrip. Rogers had been oddly quiet the short ride from NYC. May had glanced back a few times to see her staring at something on her Stark Phone. May didn’t know it, though she probably could have guessed, but Steph had broken down and started looking up the people she used to know, only to be reminded, once again, that they were all dead. There was one name in particular that Steph couldn’t handle, emotionally, typing in. She knew Bucky was dead, she didn’t need to go through the self-inflicted pain of reading Bucky’s Wikipedia page.

“Got any pressing questions you need answered on this trip?” May offers to a still silent Rogers.

“Hmm,” Steph ponders. “We still aligned with the Soviet Union?” she settles on.

May scoffs. “Man, you are just like the history books said you were,” she says, mostly to herself. 

Steph gives her an inquiring look. “History books?” Steph asks.

“Oh yeah, Cap, there are a whole lot books about you. And movies. And TV shows. Oh and a couple documentaries.”

Steph slows for a moment, face screwing up.

“Sorry,” May apologizes with a cringe. “We can get to all of that. And to answer your question: not since the wall came down. Also, we kinda got into it with them in the eighties.”

“What wall?”

“Alright, well,” May laughs, “short version: there is no USSR.”

“You’re joking,” Steph gasps, sounding genuinely shocked.

“Nope. Russia’s a shadow of the superpower you probably knew. Today China and India play on the big board and it’s all about technology.”

“I’ve noticed,” Steph grumbles.

“You’ve definitely missed a whole lot. Like, uhm,” May slows a bit, musing. “Polio? Gone. Cancer? Treatable. Organ transplants, pacemakers for ailing hearts, disease immunization, all things taken for granted. We use ultrasound to take pictures of babies to reduce the risk of a miscarriage—”

May stops, realizing Steph’s stopped walking and is just staring at May with her brow furrowed. May can’t help but smile a bit.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” May says, beckoning. Steph frowns, but follows.

It’s late, nearly midnight. The museum is closed, but May had pulled a few favors. She produces a key and slips inside.

“It’s closed, should we be in here?” Steph asks apprehensively. 

“I made some calls….Captain Rogers,” May says, flipping on the lights, “welcome to the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, constructed in 1976. I practically _lived_ here as a kid, I can still do the tour by heart.”

May turns to find Steph staring wide eyed at the many aircraft hung from the ceiling.

“For instance,” May begins, “ _that_ is the Bell X-1, first aircraft to exceed the speed of sound.”

Steph follows as May continues, pointing out different aircraft hung on wires around the room, Steph seeping up every bit of information. May is more than happy to be giving the tour. Much more than happy, honored, to be showing Captain America something that she’s so passionate about. May wasn’t kidding about growing up here. Her parents were both agents, she’d grown up just down the street, and she was in here almost every day after school. 

For her part, Steph mostly followed silently, never asking questions, not until May got to the X-15 on the second floor.

“Brought us to the edge of space in 1962,” May explained.

“You say that like we haven’t been further,” Steph says suddenly. May almost jumps. “I’d have thought we’d have been further by now.”

“Tut-tut, who’s telling the story here?” May teases. “We’re walking, we’re walking.”

May has to admit, she’s almost giddy to show Steph into the next room.

“July 20, 1969,” May says dramatically. “One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.” Steph is staring up at the shuttle. “That’s the day an astronaut—and American astronaut, no less—climbed off of this and onto the moon.”

Steph moves closer to the shuttle, mouth open. “We did it,” she mutters. “I mean they,” she corrects, turning, “they did it.”

May smiles. “We is fine. Here, strike a pose, it’ll make one hell of a Christmas card.”

Steph rolls her eyes but poses anyway, a slightly dopey, awed smile on her face as May pulls out her phone to take a picture. Secretly, May can’t wait to show her friends, that is if she’s ever allowed to show her friends. She wishes she could post the picture on Instagram right now. But she resists the urge. 

“What came next? Mars?” Steph asks earnestly. 

May can’t stop grinning, happy that she’s finally gotten Steph to interact with the tour.

“Not yet,” May says, guiding her to the next display, a replica of the Mars Rover. “Unmanned rovers so far, but give us some time. Let us finish the International Space Station first.”

Steph spins, eyebrows shooting high. May chuckles.

“Yeah, you heard me: _Space Station_.” 

Steph runs a hand through her hair, letting out a whistle. She’s physically more relaxed, calmer. May can’t help but feel the tiniest bit pleased in herself.  
“Space travel is so common now that we launch as many as nine orbital shuttles a year,” May explains. “An international effort, by the way.”

“Really?” Steph asks. “Everyone working together?”

May nods. “On this endeavor? Yes.”

They’re walking past a rocket and Steph is staring up at it with a contagious smile.

“The glamour took some tarnish in ’86 after flight 51-Lima,” May continues, ushering Steph towards a smaller, darker room. “After a mechanical error, the shuttle exploded 73 seconds after launch, on live TV.” May stops in front of the portrait on the wall. “Now when we reach the stars, we do it honor of the Challenger crew.”

Steph is looking at the seven smiling faces, silent for a long moment. She reaches up, fingers brushing gently across the face of Judith Resnik.

“And they’re _all_ honored, right?” Steph asks softly.

“I…I’m not sure I understand the question,” May replies, frowning.

“I’m…so glad to hear that.” Steph’s eyes are shining when she glances back at May. “See, what impresses me the most, Agent May, isn’t the technology.” May’s frown deepens. Steph straightens, shaking her head. “Not to make light of all of these…frankly _amazing_ technological advances…but your phones and your computers and your mad-scientist gizmos, even as a kid, I read Stark Magazine every month. We knew all of this was coming. It’s not the real achievement.”

May cocks her head and Steph shoots her a brief smile.

“It’s society,” Steph explains. “Society itself that’s the real achievement. The freedom of all people, regardless of their race or their gender,” Steph looks down, smiling to herself. “ _That’s_ what I can’t get enough of.” She looks back up at May. “Introduce me to the person who brought all of that about.”

An earnest grin spreads across May’s face so wide that her cheeks hurt.

“Glad to.”

 

“… _Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning! Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood! Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children!_ ”

“Were…were you there for this moment?” Steph asks, breathless.

Shifting, May looks over at Steph. She’s quite the sight. Leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, she’s take off the ball cap and is staring up at the screen with her lips slightly parted, eyes shining.

“No,” May answers softly, “but a quarter-million other Americans were and they filled the Mall outside to hear the greatest speech of all time.” May glances up at the screen. “Seventeen minutes changed the world.”

They’re both silent for the rest of “I Have a Dream.” When it’s over, Steph drops her eyes to the wall below the screen and stares in silence for a long moment. May wishes she could hear what she was thinking, wishes she could know what Captain America thought about Dr. Martin Luther King. After about five minutes, May touches Steph gently on the arm. Steph starts, taking a sharp intake of air and looking quickly over at May. 

“Here, I wanna show you a part of the museum you might like.”

Steph obliged, getting up to follow May back down the stairs. She doesn’t say a word, back to her silent act. May hopes this silence is less brooding and more thoughtful.

“I hope I’m making my point,” May begins as they cross the small courtyard. “I think…I _know_ that, together, we Americans raised one hell of a century from the ashes of a world war.” May glances at Steph to make sure she’s listening before continuing. “Everything that you ever wanted for this country, Steph, it’s either come true or it’s around the corner. I truly believe that. And there’s…one thing that we’ve never, ever forgotten…”

Flipping on the lights, May turns with her arms up to present the room beyond.

“…and that’s that we couldn’t have done it without you.”

The Captain America Display is a permanent fixture of the Smithsonian National History Museum. On the front wall is a life sized painting of Stephanie herself fighting the Red Skull. Steph’s mouth falls open in earnest, eyes the size of saucers as she takes it all in. Her eye’s fall on a nearby display, and her mouth snaps shut. May watches as she approaches the Jamie “Bucky” Barnes Memorial, throat tight. She had forgotten about that. Bucky Barnes was Stephanie Rogers’ best friend. They had grown up together, everyone knew it. May had always had a small suspicion that their friendship might have been played up to sell movies and action figures, but when she came up beside Steph, she realized that there was no exaggeration.

Because Captain America is sobbing.

A steady stream of tears stain her cheeks as she stares at the picture of Barnes engraved in the glass. Shakily, Steph raises a hand to run a finger down the memorial. May wets her lips, turning her eyes to the memorial.

“She was your best friend?” May asks quietly.

Steph is silent for a while, and May thinks she hadn’t heard the question. But then Steph speaks.

“She was…” her voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. She clears her throat. May couldn’t possibly imagine what is going through Steph’s head. History, and this monument, call Bucky Steph’s “best friend.” In fact, Steph’s eyes are fixated on those words on the glass. Best Friends. Certainly, that’s what most people thought. But as Steph looks at those words now, her stomach is sinking. Bucky is dead. And Steph couldn’t even do her the service of ensuring her memory was immortalized the way it deserved.

Because to the rest of the world, that’s what Bucky was. The best friend. The side kick. Loyal and brave. Even back then, that’s all anybody ever knew or thought. She was the Commandos' mascot, the heart throb. All the rest were hardened, sullen, quiet, serious. When the cameras came on, everyone else cast their eyes down and shuffled off to a corner. If they weren’t getting action shots, if they were going for something a little more personal, everyone was out of their depths, even Steph. But Bucky wasn’t. Bucky was the one who would smile wide and walk right up to the camera and wink before grabbing Steph and pulling her in, mussing up her hair, and telling some joke to get Steph to smile at the camera too. She’d laugh, take a drag on her cigarette, lean against the wall and casually clean some part of her rifle, making faces at Steph when the camera wasn’t on her to get Steph to chuckle, break up her serious demeanor. Always looking out for Steph. Always had her back. 

When the clips and reports made their way back to the States, everyone _loved_ Bucky. “Film Star Beauty” they would often say. With her stunning smile and her grease streaked face and the way her fatigues fell just so on her curves, she definitely looked like something out of a movie. Steph had always been stiff and awkward, still not used to her new body. But Bucky did gritty beauty with ease. When Steph and the others would make fun of her for it, Bucky would just scoff, tell them that they were jealous that she would have a steady job when she got home and the rest of them would have to go back to being secretaries. 

Of course, Steph had always known that Bucky was beautiful. And when they’d huddle together at night, while mortars fell in the distance, and far-away gun fire would lull them to sleep, they’d whisper to each other about the life they would make when they got back home. Bucky deserved so much better than a glass plaque in a museum. But that’s all that Steph had been able to give her.

“Cap, you alright?”

Steph is turned away, one hand tight across her body, the other covering her face. She’s trying to hide the honest to god sobs that are wracking her body now. She hadn’t seen Bucky’s face, not since…

“Yeah, m’fine,” Steph mutters, straightening a bit and wiping the tears from her blotchy face. She doesn’t look at May before she strides past the monument, towards the display of replica shields. She stares at them for a long time, willing her sorrow away, swallowing down her pain. May is behind her, Steph can feel her standing there, but she continues to stare at the shield display. 

The next display shakes her out of her mood. She sniffs, squinting up at the mannequins in confusion.

“Captain America 2?” she reads.

“Yeah…” May says cautiously. “When you disappeared, the Government covered it up.” Steph shoots May a deadly glare. “They thought it best to keep morale up on the home-front. And, uh, they…well they-“

May doesn’t get to finish because Steph is already onto the next display, reading. 

“They said that it was all _fake_?!” Steph spits, real anger in her voice. 

The display is pretty damning. The explanation is several paragraphs long. After Steph had disappeared, the government had hired a look alike, for Steph and Bucky, and started filming propaganda films. The rest of the Commandos had refused to participate, so they had been replaced as well. After the war, the “Howling Commandos” toured the country. The story sold had been that the Commandos had just been actresses the entire time, and all the film of them had been staged, that these women had never _truly_ been in danger.

Steph’s throat is tight. Sure, this is a slap in the face to her, but it’s an absolute disgrace to Bucky. Bucky had died trying to save Steph. Bucky had given everything for her country. She had been selfless. When secret recruitment of women to be trained in combat and espionage had begun, Bucky had been first in line at the Recruitment Office to sign up. And they had played it off like she had just been an actress the entire time? Like she had never even left New York? Like she had never organized an attempt at rescue of the captured 107th, nearly a month before Steph had been able to get there? Like she had never been captured and tortured? Like she didn’t almost single-handedly enable Steph and the Commandos to destroy Schmitt and accelerate the end of the great war? Steph wants to tear the display off the wall. In fact, she has to ball her fists and walk away just to prevent herself from doing just that.

“And here I was, thinking that society had _evolved_ ,” Steph hisses. May shivers, she sounds furious, dangerous.

“The charade didn’t last very long,” May explains quickly. “The other Commandos came out. They sued. They were seriously pissed off, rightfully so. Trust me, the lie didn’t last long.”

May has to grab Steph to direct her to the next display. This one had a picture of the rest of the Commandos, all aged about ten years, at a press release.  
“The truth came out, but it didn’t distract from what you built, Cap,” May says, but she can still feel Steph fuming. May is kicking herself for bringing her here. They should have stopped after MLK. “Whether you were there or not, this was still all you. After the truth came out, you inspired millions. So many little girls, like me, grew up reading about you, watching the cartoon, dressing as you for Halloween, learning about you and Barnes and the rest of the Howling Commandos. Here.”  
May steers Steph to the next room.

“It’s because of you that the ban on women in all branches was lifted. Because you and Bucky and the Howling Commandos showed the world what women are capable of. You proved that we’re just as able and willing as any man out there. You proved that we can be _heroes_.”

Steph swallows, taking in the next room. It’s all about her legacy. The costumes, the history, the impact, the legislation, and everything that Stephanie Rogers influenced for the next generations. Finally she turns and looks at May critically. 

“Cartoon?” Steph says flatly.

May laughs.

“Oh, yeah. A good one too. I’ll show you on the computer when we get back.” May closes the space between them, putting a hand on Steph’s shoulder. “I’m both grateful and jealous. So let’s go with grateful.”

Steph fights a smile.

“Your heart. Your spirit. Your legend. The kind that shines only once every hundred years,” May says seriously. “You changed my life. Inspired me to go for my dreams. And I know lots of other women who feel the same way.”

Turning to survey the room, May sighs. 

“If you could do all of this in just three years, if you could affect all of this change, imagine what you can do now with a second chance.”

A second chance. 

Steph had never set out to change lives or inspire people. Yet, according to Agent May, that’s what happened. It’s heady stuff, the thought. Steph remembers how she had cried over President Roosevelt. He had inspired her, made her dream big and never give up. If what May is saying, then Steph may have done just that for generations of little girls. And now she’s being given the chance to do that again.

“Thank you, Agent May. I-…I think I understand what you’re saying,” Steph says, squaring her shoulders. “You can take me back to New York now. There’s…somebody I need to speak with.”


	2. Stephanie Rogers: Captain America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more comic book/movie mix for you all in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, some Stephanie Rogers inspiration  
> http://hotphotography.tumblr.com/post/129143372748  
> https://66.media.tumblr.com/93ac0eb5165f2c51959084d3bc7aa300/tumblr_nduzyzUHzZ1rqfvo0o1_500.jpg  
> (this one has my faves of Steph and Bucky) http://rebloggy.com/post/steve-rogers-marvel-bucky-barnes-hammandbuble-fem-bucky-fem-steve-do-you-like-ho/85860840687
> 
> Toni Stark  
> https://taikova.tumblr.com/post/122167852468/personally-i-think-lesbian-tony-stark-is-the-best  
> http://objectively-pink.deviantart.com/art/AV-Working-Girl-158410841
> 
> Nicole Fury  
> http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4wrqzukfV1qefr9oo1_1280.jpg

Fury’s “proposition,” as she had put it, had been short and sweet.

“I need women.  _We_ , our country, need women, women like you.  Women to inspire us, to protect us, to defend us against the threats of this century, just like you did in the last.  I’m starting a team.  And I want you on it.  In fact, I want you to lead it.”

That had been when Steph was still in the medical ward, recovering from a gunshot wound.  The offer had seemed ludicrous at the time.  Steph had only been fighting World War 2 three weeks ago, and now “her country” was calling on her again, to fight some more? 

Since, Steph had read some of the history books about her.  Agent May had been right, there were plenty.  The books, and the two hour long documentary, had all played Steph crashing the Valkyrie into the Artic as “the ultimate sacrifice for freedom.”  Steph wonders how they would feel if they knew the truth?

Because Bucky had been the one who made “the ultimate sacrifice for freedom,” not Steph.  Steph had been a coward.  She had put a pistol in her mouth less than 24 hours after watching Bucky fall to her death, but she couldn’t do it.  Instead she planned what she knew full well was a suicide mission.  She had never meant for it to look heroic, in fact Steph had felt like a deserter, and the worst kind at that: a selfish deserter.  But she hadn’t been around to set the record straight.

So maybe it makes sense that the US Government would think that Stephanie Rogers was just rearing to get back into the game, to lead another elite team against another set of impossible odds to defeat another world-ending threat.  At the time, in that starchy hospital bed, Steph hadn’t said anything, but she had been thinking _no way in hell_.

Agent May had gotten to her though.  Steph realized how goddam selfish she was still being.  Moping about her lost love when her country still needed her, when even the whole world might need her one day.  When she had agreed to Erksine’s experiment, she had done so with the best of intentions and foolishly righteous drives.  She had promised to defend freedom no matter what.  She had accepted the sacrifice and the honor of becoming something _more_ than just Stephanie Rogers, of becoming Captain America.  She had been certain that her desire to defend the world against the worst kind of bullies would have no limit.  But she had been wrong.  It had a limit, and that limit was reached when Bucky Barnes fell from that freight car.

Maybe it was a little foolish, a little preemptive, for Steph to march into Fury’s office first thing in the morning and say, “I’ll do it.”  Maybe it was more of the same gung-ho attitude and starry eyed idealism that sent Steph into Erksine’s lab in the first place.  But Steph knew she couldn’t spend the rest of her life moping around some government facility, crying over obituaries and feeling sorry for herself.  She needed a purpose.

Steph was already regretting that decision.  That very afternoon, she had been introduced to two other SHIELD agents, codenames Black Widow and Hawkeye. 

“Just call me Natasha,” the gorgeous red head had said plainly once they were alone in the training room.  “I’m here to train you to fight—“

“I know how to fight,” Steph interrupted.  Natasha had just smiled sympathetically. 

“You know any martial arts?”

Steph had to admit, Natasha had her there.

“And my friend hiding in the rafter up there is Clara,” Natasha had continued.  “She’s here to give you weapons training.”

“I don’t use weapons.”  Steph couldn’t help herself from arguing. 

“It’s a new world, Steph.  A different one from when you went to sleep.  Trust me, you’ll want to hear what Clara has to say.”

Of course, Natasha had been right on all accounts.  Steph was desperately unprepared for the training she was in store for.  That first day had been spent with Natasha just kicking her ass over and over again, then stopping to go through the fight in slow motion, teaching Steph some new moves, pointing out her weak spots.  The Clara had taken her to a table laid with about forty different gadgets that Steph had never seen before, but that were almost all engraved with the word “Stark.”  Clara, a quiet, steady presence, had told Steph to pick one to start with.

Most days continued on like that.  Fury told Steph she wasn’t allowed in the field until both Barton and Romanoff cleared her.  Fury also told her that any operation that Steph went on, she would be accompanied by both Black Widow and Hawkeye, and Steph found herself feeling comforted by that.  Maybe she was making friends.

But Steph couldn’t run from her problems forever.  She would readily admit weaknesses in her hand to hand combat skills or her weaponry knowledge.  Admitting the weakness that she felt inside, like a part of herself was just missing, left behind in 1944, was a whole lot harder.  She could throw herself into training during the day, spend her evenings catching up on everything that had happened in the last seventy years, but when she laid awake at night with nobody and nothing to keep her company but the endless circular cycle of her thoughts, she felt the creeping fear eating away at her edges.  The fear that told her that she wasn’t good enough, never had been and never will be, and that there was nothing that she could do to fix it.  The only thing that had ever filled that space had been Bucky Barnes.  And now Bucky Barnes was gone, forever, and Steph hadn’t even gone to her funeral.

That’s how Steph finds herself alone in the rain, wandering silently through Arlington National Cemetery one Friday night.  After about a month of training, Fury had given Steph a car and Clara had shown her how to drive it.  Steph had driven her fair share of military jeeps in the forties, but the sleek black sports car that they had told her was modest even though it felt ostentatious was a completely different story.  Just like Steph had made phone calls in the forties, but phones now were nothing like the way they used to be, cars were almost entirely different.

Steph wasn’t sure that she was allowed to leave New York, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself.  Nobody intercepted her when she snuck off to the garage, got into the car and pulled out onto the highway.  She had to admit, the built in navigator giving her directions in a warm, foreign accent was nice.  It meant Steph didn’t have to think too hard, didn’t have to keep stopping to check a map.  Arlington was closed, but that didn’t matter much as the fence was low and Steph was good at jumping.

She wandered past white headstone after white headstone, each etched with a name, a name of a soldier who had died just like Bucky and who probably had somebody missing them just as much as Steph missed Bucky.  The sheer volume of headstones was sobering.

Is this what Steph had fought for?  So that hundreds of thousands of Buckys could lay forever in the dirt here?  Is this what she had agreed to fight for in the future?  More white headstones?

“Steph,” a soft voice called.

Steph jumped, but she couldn’t say that she was surprised that Natasha had followed her here.  Clara had warned Steph that the cars all had trackers on them.  Steph stopped, only sparing Nat a glance before her gaze fell on the tombstone in front of her.  She had checked the directory at the edge of the cemetery, she knew exactly where she was going.  The rain that dripped down her face hid her tears.

SAMANTHA J SAWYER

“HAPPY SAM”

MAJ, ARMY

WORLD WAR II, VIETNAM WAR

MEDAL OF HONOR

PURPLE HEART

JUNE 23, 1920 – AUGUST 1, 2009

“Sam,” Steph sighs fondly, crouching in front of the headstone.  She reaches out to run her hand along the cold marble.  “We called her Happy Sam because she was always in the best mood, no matter what.”  Steph can’t help the small smile that crosses her face.  “We’d be in the trenches somewhere, sleeping in the mud and we’d be in a bad mood and she’s say, ‘Cheer up, gals.  At least we’re not at home typing office notes and having our bosses pinch out bottoms.’  Then she’d tell some joke or a story.  Her attitude was contagious.  I know she had a fella back home.  He had some sort of medical condition, army wouldn’t take him.  So he was raising their little girl.  Sam’d show us the pictures, read us some silly story about something her toddler had done back home.”  Steph pauses, letting a few more tears fall down her cheeks.  “I’m glad she made it home.  I can’t believe she went green to gold…well that’s not true, I can believe it.  She’d’ve made a great officer.  I’m…I’m glad she got to live a full life.”

Natasha is beside Steph now, standing silent and still.

“We could have come here during the day,” Nat offers softly.  “Or at least when the weather was better…”

Steph stands.

“Immersion,” Steph says suddenly.  Nat turns to give her a confused look.  “Reflection,” Steph continues.  “That’s why I’m here.  Now.  I couldn’t wait.  Reflection.  On…on wars I’ve never even heard of…if that makes any sense.”  Steph glances at Nat, but Nat says nothing.  Steph swallows hard and blinks the rain out of her eyes before continuing.  “Hundreds of thousands of Americans, buried here.  Markings…” Steph looks out across the fields of stones, looking like some sort of bizarre crop field in the dark.  “…as far as the eye can see.”

Steph turns and continues down the row of headstones.

“But?” Nat asks, following closely. 

Steph spins to give Nat a distressed look before dry washing her face.

“But not one for Jamie Buchanan Barnes,” Steph almost sobs.  “She’s not here.  I checked.  She was-“ Steph shudders, trying to hide her tears from Nat, “the most courageous soldier I ever knew.  She’d put her life on the line with a second of hesitation.  She-“ Steph’s voice breaks and she’s afraid she can’t go on.  “Sh-she _died_ for me, for this country.  She shouldn’t be forgotten.  They told everyone that she was just an actress and then _replaced_ her!  She should have never been cheated out of the life-out of the honor that she _deserved_.  But I-I-I…I let her down.”  _Literally_ , Steph thinks bitterly, but she doesn’t vocalize that.

Natasha is silent, just looks at Steph for a long moment.  Steph is grateful not to see pity reflected in her green eyes.

“From what you say,” Nat begins, “and from everything I’ve read, your friend died a hero.”  Steph’s face twists desperately.  “I sympathize, Steph, I truly do, more than you could know.  But…” Nat pauses to look out across the dark hills, “wallowing in grief is no way to honor her.”

Steph turns and is walking away.  She can remember Peggy Carter saying something similar the day Bucky died.  Steph wasn’t in the mood to hear Peggy’s words about Bucky echoed on the lips of a stranger.  But Nat grabs her arm with surprising strength and stops her.

“Here,” Nat says, “let me show you where Bucky is.”

 

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier sits bathed in yellow light, casting eerie shadows in the rain.  The silent, lonely guard patrols back and forth in front of it, paying no mind to the wet or the cold.  Nat leads Steph down to the bottom step.  Steph’s been here before.  It’s changed a little bit since the last she remembers, but she recognizes the place.  Natasha says nothing and neither does Steph, they just stand, silent as the guard, silent as the tomb.  

HERE RESTS IN

HONORED GLORY

AN AMERICAN

SOLDIER

KNOWN BUT TO GOD

Steph’s not crying anymore.  She just stands, motionless, thoughtless, sobered. 

“Jamie’s body was never recovered, Steph,” Nat says gently, just loud enough for Steph to hear.  “You wanted a monument…this is it.”

The noise in Steph’s brain has stopped.  The thoughts that had kept her up tonight and every night since her revival disappear.  There is only silence.  The only sound is the soft splash of footsteps as the guard marches back and forth and the rain falling on the dark landscape.

Steph suddenly realizes that, until not long ago, this was her tomb as well.  In fact, her return hasn’t been officially “announced” yet, so there are probably lots of people who still think that this is her tomb.  A lump in her throat forms at that thought.

“Was there a…a funeral?” Steph asks, voice croaking when she finally speaks.  “For Bucky, I mean.”

“There was,” Natasha answers immediately.  It strikes Steph that perhaps Nat wouldn’t have known that information off hand, she had to have looked it up and that makes Steph’s stomach twist with affection.  “And there’s a headstone for her in Brooklyn, right next to her parents.  If you hadn’t just run off in the night, I could have taken you there tomorrow and saved you all this trouble.”

Steph swallows hard.

“No it’s…I’m glad I came.  I just…I wanted to see…the others, my friends…”

Nat nods slowly, slipping her hand into Steph’s. 

“Is there…I mean…” Steph isn’t sure how to ask.

“You’re there too,” Nat answers the unasked question gently.  “Though I’d guess not for long.  You are YouTube famous.  And once Clara and I sign off on sending you to the field, Fury wants to have a…coming out party.”

“No,” Steph says immediately.  “I mean, I don’t want a party.  I just…I just want to get back to work.”

Nat smiles.  “Spoken like a true Soldier,” she says warmly.  

Steph doesn’t know how much longer she stands there, watching the guard walk back and forth, reading and re-reading the inscription.  When another uniformed guard approaches for the changing of the guard, Steph sighs heavily.  Steph’s soaked to the bone, still half dressed in her pajamas and a dripping sweat shirt, and Natasha has to be just as wet and cold but she hasn’t complained, hasn’t said another word, hasn’t let go of Steph’s hand. 

“Alright,” Steph finally says.  “Let’s go.”

The changing of the guard is over, but you wouldn’t know it.  This guard looks just the same as the last, walking the same path in the same number of practiced steps.  And on and on it will go, perceivably until the end of time.  Steph thinks she should feel comforted by the fact, but she doesn’t.  It just makes her feel hopeless.  When they turn to walk away, Steph feels like she’s walking away from more than just a marble monument.  She wonders what that last stony guard is doing now, now that he’s disappeared into the history of this place, his watch ended.  She wonders what all the guards do when they’re not marching back in forth in front of the Tomb.  They might go home, they might have families and friends, they might see a ballgame or go on a date.  But Steph suspects that the guards never truly get to leave this place behind.  A part of them always stays, marching back and forth in abstemious silence, on and on, until they’re called on again and are allowed to step into those familiar shoes, until the end of time.

 

***

 

Jennifer Banner is furious.  Well, furious probably isn’t the right word.  Jen never allows herself to become furious anymore.  The heart rate monitor on her wrist helps her make sure of that.  But right now, she’s as close to furious as she can get. 

General Ross had destroyed Jen’s life.  Okay, it’s true, Jen had a hand in said life ruining.  She had been foolish, so incredibly foolish.  Her teammates on the project had told her that the serum was unstable, that it wasn’t ready for human tests.  Jen had read all of the horror stories about serum tests gone wrong.  And the tests had gone wrong far more many times than they had ever gone right.  In fact, there’s been hundreds and hundreds of failed tests, and only one success. 

But Jen was young and she was full of herself.  Well, maybe not full of herself, but definitely overconfident.  She had been hired under the table, fresh out of school, by an unnamed government agency, and handed a single vial of blood, told to replicate it.  To be fair, Jen had been making waves in the biology and medical community, even in school, for a while.  Her old office was decorated with all of those superfluous commendations.  When she was young, God bless her, she thought those framed pieces of paper actually meant something.

Turns out Jen’s serum went more the way of Red Skull, and less the way of Captain America.  After her accident, Jen had tried to get back into the lab.  She thought that if she could just back to work, try again, fix her mistakes, everything would be alright.  Because despite her failure, she was still so so naïve.  That was before, long before, she lost everything.

General Ross, Betty’s father, had had Jen’s number from the get go.  The moment Betty brought Jen home for Christmas while they were both still in undergrad, Ross had turned up his nose and started making underhanded comments.  The bigoted piece of work had been digging for dirt on Jen from square one, and after her first…rampage, he had cops waiting in her lab.  They had seized all of her work, all of her notes, all of her equipment, and all of her hope of reversing the effects of the failed serum. 

Jen can admit that she made some mistakes, a whole fucking lot of mistakes actually.  But a good person, a decent person, a _logical_ person would have allowed her to pick up her research to find a way to prevent herself from turning into a killing machine every time she so much as sneezed too hard.  General Ross was neither good nor decent, and he definitely wasn’t logical.  He released an equally terrible monster into a metropolitan area just to rile Jen up for Christ’s sake, the guy didn’t have the best of judgement.

He had come after Jen with a vengeance.  And maybe Jen should have surrendered, given herself up, let another scientist take a swing while Jen sat in some special prison.  But Jen was still overconfident, was still sure that _only she_ could reverse the effects and fix her formula.  And more than that, Jen was scared.  Not scared of prison, necessarily.  Well, of course she was scared of prison, but she was more scared of what she could do in prison.  She lived in constant, crippling fear of ever hurting or, God forbid, killing another person.  And prison was not exactly a stress-free environment. 

At the end, Jen had had to make a painful choice, and she still stands by the decision she made to this day.  After that final “incident,” Jen had to decide between staying and fighting to get her research back, her life back, fighting General Ross, and, above all, fighting to keep Betty; and just cutting her losses and running to the furthest corner that she could find, with only the smallest sliver of hope of ever recreating her formula and finding a cure for her “condition.”

Jen lost her work, her progress, her office with all the certificates and awards on the wall.  And she had lost Betty.  But she had left with the satisfaction of knowing that General Ross was disgraced, in the process of being Court Marshalled. 

And now Jen was staring at a headline from six weeks ago (because she doesn’t get much mail out here).

SECRETARY THUNDERBOLT: THADDEUS E. ROSS APPOINTED AS SECRETARY OF STATE

Jen can’t look at the headline for a single second longer or she really is going to lose it.  So she grabs the newspaper up, crumpling it into a tight ball and throwing it straight into the fire.

They made the man Secretary of State.  They made racist, homophobic, bigoted, idiot, blind, illogical mother fucking General Thunderbolt mother fucking Secretary of the mother fucking State.

Jen looks up and spots her reflection in one of the many mirrors she has around the room.  Her eyes a glowing, vibrant green. 

_In 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.  Out, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.  In 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.  Out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…_

Jen keeps counting her breaths as she bolts across the rooms and pitches herself into the ice bath that she keeps in the icebox, slamming the lid shut, throwing her into darkness.  It’s frigid, but it definitely lowers her heart rate.  She’s gotten the saline levels just right and padded the sides, turning her icebox into a makeshift sensory deprivation tank.  Jen’s become an expert at this practice.  She closes her eyes and counts her breathing, imagining a beach, imagining Betty, shoving the smug face of General Ross out of her mind.  She stays in there until her teeth start to chatter so hard that she’s afraid they’ll break.  Checking her heart rate monitor, she ensures that her BPM is below 70 before she climbs numbly out of the ice box, barely making it to the bed across the room in her tiny, shitty flat before she collapses. 

Dr. Banner doesn’t know that two blocks away, Clara Barton pulls her eye away from a scope.  The mission had only been to find and observe, but when Dr. Banner had started to shake and change a few shades greener before throwing herself into a goddam freezer in her kitchen, Clara had gotten worried.  She’d had one highly specialized arrow drawn tight in her bow for over twenty minutes. 

“Hawkeye to Foxtrot, over,” Clara says into the radio, voice low.

“This is Foxtrot, send it Hawkeye, over.”

“Target identified, break.”  Clara looks back through her scope to ensure Dr. Banner is still laying huddled in her bed.  “Request guidance for follow on action, over.”

“Charlie Mike, Hawkeye.  Do not engage unless absolutely necessary, over.”

Clara cracks her neck, settling into a more comfortable position in her perch. 

“Roger that, Foxtrot.  Hawkeye, out.”

“Acknowledged.  Foxtrot, out.”     

 

***

 

It’s a rare day off for Steph, and she’s called in a favor.  Currently, she’s sat at the small desk in the quarters she’s been given.  Before her is an open sketchbook, something leather bound and much nicer than anything she’d ever been to afford before.  On the milky page is the charcoal outline of a face.  To a stranger, the features Steph has done at the moment—a strong, square jaw, a thin nose, finely arched eyebrows, shoulder length auburn curls—wouldn’t mean much.  But Steph was drawing from memory, a specific memory. 

When Steph had learned that Peggy Carter was still alive, she had broken down in tears.  Luckily she had been alone in her room, reading a Wikipedia page on her laptop.  It was the paragraph that got Steph in tears: “Margaret Elizabeth “Peggy” Carter (born April 9, 1921) was one of the most prominent agents of the Strategic Scientific Reserve (SSR) during and after World War II. Originally a code-breaker working at Bletchley Park, she later joined the Strategic Scientific Reserve (SSR), an Allied deep science agency formed to fight against HYDRA, the Nazi super weapons division.  One of the founding members of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division (SHIELD), Carter had a long and illustrious career in the intelligence community.  Currently, Carter resides in a private care facility-“

That was as far as Steph got before she broke down.  _Currently_.  Peggy was alive.  Steph had gone nearly three months thinking that everyone she had ever known was in the ground, but Peggy was alive!

When Steph had finally recovered enough to finish reading about Peggy’s life, and her many many achievements, she was grinning ear to ear.  Agent May had told Steph that if she needed _anything_ at all, then all she had to do was ask.  Thus far, Steph hadn’t thought of anything that she wanted to ask for.  But that ended today, when she called in her first favor.

“Captain Rogers,” Agent May calls from the open doorway.  Steph turns.  “I’ve got the location and the QuinJet running.  Ready whenever you are.”

Steph scoops up her nearly finished sketch and a small box on her way out the door.  Tugging on a well-worn leather jacket that she had found in the lost and found (“We can get you a new jacket,” Brooks had said, but Steph liked this one, it reminded her of the one that Bucky used to wear), Steph followed May to the hanger on the bottom floor of the compound.  The trip was short, and Steph used the time to finish her sketch. 

Steph liked Agent May, _Melinda_ , as May had often asked Steph to call her.  Melinda didn’t push or prod or pressure Steph for details about the war, about her family, about the people she had lost.  Once word got out to the other agents of SHIELD, Steph had been surprised with an annoying amount of fanfare.  It was a bit jarring.  There were constantly playing cards and comic books and posters being shoved in her face, agents begging for a signature, acting practically giddy when Steph would oblige.  Steph didn’t know for sure, but she thinks that Black Widow put a stop to it with some very choice threats of bodily harm, because in the last few weeks, Steph’s only been approached twice. 

Worst was when Steph was pulled in for a _debriefing_ with Director Fury and whatever lawyer or agent or Senator or government official she had in her office at the moment.  Because Steph couldn’t just shrug those off, couldn’t just retreat to her room or to the gym.  She _had_ to sit there and answer questions. 

That absolute worst experience, by far, was the shrink that Fury had hired.  Steph had been assured that “therapy” was _normal_ now, everyone saw doctors and took meds for things called “depression” and “anxiety” and “PTSD.”  But when Steph was young, being sent to a shrink was a decidedly _bad thing_ , especially as a woman.  In fact, Steph had been threatened numerous times with the promise to throw her in the loony bin unless she started acting like a proper lady.

So forgive her if she has her misgivings. 

Usually, Steph would just sit there in silence while the doctor asked about the war, about her family, about her “adjustment,” and, worst of all, about Bucky.  The doctor would offer useless platitudes about how maladjustment was normal and how it was alright to feel sad and lonely.  But Steph hated the sessions, really really hated them.  She didn’t want to answer questions about the past.  She didn’t even want to think about the past.  She just wanted to move on.

Melinda was always a nice change from all of that.  Nat was perfectly nice, but she seemed to have issues of her own, and neither she nor Clara liked to talk much.  Melinda wouldn’t ask questions about the past, but she would enthusiastically answer all the questions Steph had about the present.  Lots of the agents acted like Steph was a burden when she would ask about some gadget or joke or reference she didn’t understand.  But Melinda would gladly give her an in-depth explanation, with accompanying pictures and videos, not stopping until Steph assured her that she understood now. 

When Melinda landed the jet, she asked Steph if she wanted her to come with her.

“No, I think I should do this on my own,” Steph had answered, giving Melinda an appreciative nod.

“Alrighty, well just shoot me a message when you’re ready to go.  Give me a ten minute heads up, I think I’m going to head somewhere to grab a bite.  You want anything?”

Steph told her no, she had eaten before they left.  She knew that Melinda would bring her food anyway, because she was Steph’s friend, and she knew that Steph’s metabolism dictated that she eat every three hours, and she also knew that Steph hated feeling like a burden and would never ask for food, even if she was starving to death. 

The care center was actually very lovely.  Nestled in the hills of Virginia, it was a beautiful, white columned old manor.  The summer heat was shaded by the many trees around the yard, beyond the iron fence.  Steph strode along the cobblestone walkway, noticing the residents and their nurses scattered about the gardens.  Steph bound up the stairs and through the stain glass set double oak doors.  Behind a high desk at the front was a nurse in pink scrubs. 

“Hi, I’m Stephanie,” Steph said, leaning against the desk.  “I called earlier about Peggy Carter?”

“Oh the sweetest lady,” the nurse said warmly with a smile.  “Let me see if she’s awake.”

When the nurse got back, she took Steph’s driver’s license.  She had to run a background check.  Steph had been told this place was high security.  And she wouldn’t want any less for Peggy.

“Stephanie Roger,” the nurse reads.  “Any relation to Captain America?”

“Fraid not, ma’am,” Steph recites.  “My folks were just a big fan.”

Steph assumes her falsified credentials come up clean because next thing she knows, she’s being led through the double doors and down the hall.

“Alright, Room 114,” the nurse says, indicating the door.  “Just knock before you go in.”

Steph swallows hard and nods because she’s not sure if she can speak.  Suddenly, she’s nervous.  The nurse leaves, heading back to the front desk and Steph wonders if she can slip out the back door and head back to the jet without anybody noticing.

“Stephanie Rogers, you coward,” Steph chides herself under her breath.  This is the least she can do.  Peggy Carter was…well it was complicated.  But Peggy’s lived a full life.  She had a husband and kids and _grandkids_.  Sure, it might feel like she just saw Peggy a few months ago to Steph, but Peggy thinks Steph is _dead_.  She was on the radio with her when Steph went into the ice.  Seeing her now would…make everything feel even more real.  Because no matter how many things amaze her and reaffirm that, yes, Steph is living in 2012, when that fact stares her in the face, Steph can’t help the dark, lonely feeling that grabs hold of her heart and won’t let go.  But Captain America owes everything to Peggy Carter, because without Peggy, there would be no Captain America.  So Steph can do this.

“Who is it?” Steph hears a nostalgically familiar voice call when she knocks on the door.

Steph pushes the door open a little bit before freezing.  She clears her throat.  “Just an old friend,” Steph calls into the room, afraid to go any further.

“Mmm,” Peggy hums, “I think you’re mistaken, young lady, all of my old friends are quite dead.”  Peggy laughs at her joke, which descends into a fit of coughing that makes Steph cringe.

With one final deep breath, Steph throws the door open all the way and strides inside the room.

The room is as lovely as the manor.  It’s spacious and filled with natural light.  The walls are decorated with mementos, some Steph recognizes—like military medals, or pictures from the front lines—other’s Steph doesn’t—like pictures of children, or of Peggy in different stages of aging shaking the hand of somebody important looking.  But Steph doesn’t fixate on the room for too long, because her eyes have fallen on Peggy.

For some reason, Steph is surprised that Peggy looks like, well, _Peggy_.  Hair still impeccable curled, makeup still clean, brows still arched.  But she’s definitely aged.  The lines on her face are deep, and her skin is pocked with age marks and varicose veins.  Her hair is steely grey, and the hands folded on top of the knit blanket are frail, gnarled.

“Oh, my God,” Steph hears Peggy gasp.

“Now I know what you must be thinking,” Steph says quickly, defensive for no reason.  “But it’s really me, Rip Van Rogers.”  Steph winces at her poor attempt at a joke.

But a smile is spreading across Peggy’s face, and it’s just as stunning as it had been in 1941.

“Well,” she says, mussing with a frayed edge of her blanket for a moment as she thinks.  “With a joke like that, then it must be true.”  She studies Steph for a long moment.  “Stephanie Rogers,” Peggy finally settles on saying, eyes going warm and happy.  Steph smiles shyly and walks closer to the bed, reaching down without thinking and grabbing Peggy’s hand as she sits in the chair beside the bed.

“Yeah, Peg, it’s me,” Steph says quietly.

“But…how?” Peggy says.  “Now I know that my…my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“Oh hush,” Steph replies.  “You’re the sharpest gal I ever knew.”  Steph pauses to glance down at the intertwined fingers.  “It’s been a…a strange trip.  But the important part is that I’m here to see you.”

Peggy smiles again, just as sincere as before.

“I thought you had died,” Peggy whispers, a bit brokenly.  “I-…you were on the radio and I-…”  Steph notices a tear at the corner of Peggy’s eye.  “I’m so happy that you’re alright, Steph.”

Steph stares into Peggy’s eyes for a long moment.  They’re the same, coffee-brown eyes as before.  Just as sharp, just as discerning, just as mischievous. 

“Oh!” Steph says, remembering what’s in her other hand.  “I brought you something.”

Steph produces the finished sketch.  Peggy gasps when she sees it, reaching out a shaky hand when Steph offer it to her.

“Oh my goodness,” Peggy says.  “Look at that.  When did you do this?”

“This morning.”

“This morning?” Peggy cries, disbelieving.  “Oh, darling, I haven’t looked like this in decades.  Did you draw this from memory?”

“Stop, you’re just as beautiful as always, Peg,” Steph says.  “And yeah, I can’t forget a dame like you if I tried.”

Peggy rolls her eyes at that, pulling her hand from Steph’s so she can bat at her teasingly.

“Don’t make me blush, I’m too old of a woman to be blushing,” Peggy laughs.  Steph smiles.  “This picture is lovely.  I’ll have the staff frame it and I’ll put it right here on my table.”  Peggy looks at the sketch again.  “Oh, but, Stephanie, you haven’t signed it!” Peggy cries.  “You’ve always been such a marvelous artist, you must sign it.”

Steph laughs, but takes the paper anyway, scrawling her signature at the bottom, suddenly glad she’s had so much practice signing things lately.

“I’ll have to be careful with it though,” Peggy continues as Steph hands the drawing back to her.  “This is an original sketch signed by _Captain America_ , that could be worth a lot of money.”

“There’s not a person alive capable of stealing something from Peggy Carter,” Steph shoots back.  “I read your Wikipedia page, I know what you’ve been up to since I’ve been away.”

“Oh dear.  They embellish those things, you know,” Peggy says, still ginning.

“I doubt it,” Steph replies, leaning back in her seat with a sigh.  “If anything, it’s missing a few facts.”

“Well I certainly got in plenty of trouble that had to be redacted in my youth,” Peggy says.  She then turns to give Steph a serious look, even though there’s still a twinkle in her eye.  “And you, young lady, were the biggest trouble of all.”

Steph can’t help the earnest laughter that pulls from her.

“That reminds me, I’ve brought you one more present,” Steph says, picking up the small box from where it’s been sitting on her lap.  “They, uh, they found this when they found me.  I’m afraid it’s a bit damaged, doesn’t work worth a damn, but still sentimental.”

Peggy takes the box with questioning eyes.  Steph just smiles and prods her to open it.

The compass didn’t take to being frozen for seventy years as well as Steph did.  It’s still water logged, the needle spins lazily in every direction but north.  Its spring was damaged, so it has to be pried open.  Peggy struggles with it for a moment before Steph reaches over and opens it for her.

The picture inside is faded, blotchy in the corners with water damage, but still unmistakable.

“Oh, Steph,” Peggy breaths.  There’s honest tears rolling down her cheeks now, and Steph can’t help but lean forward and wipe them away.  When she goes to pull back, Peggy grabs her hand and holds it again.  “I-I can’t,” Peggy says.  “I can’t keep this.  This…this belongs in a museum, not on the nightstand of some old woman.”

“Hush, yes you can.  You gave it to me, it’s yours.  You can do what you want with it, give it to a museum if you’d like, though I’ll be a little hurt if I’m walking through the Smithsonian next week and see it in a display case.”

“You’ve been to the Smithsonian?” Peggy asks weakly.

“Oh yeah, lots.  Very helpful, I can’t get enough.  The internet is great, but it’s a bit overwhelming.”

Peggy genuinely laughs at that.  Steph smiles back.

“I knew somebody my age would understand,” Steph teases.

They both pause, looking into each other’s eyes for a long moment.  And Steph knows that the past that could have been is playing in both of their minds.  Peggy pulls back first.

“Well, you still need to tell me how on earth it is that you are here looking just like you did in 1944?” Peggy declares smartly.

Steph sighs but regales the story anyway.  When she’s done, Peggy tells her about her family—her husband and her children and their children.  They talk about the SSR and SHIELD and Hydra.  They skirt around the issue of the war.  They talk about Steph being trained by Black Widow and Hawkeye, both of whom Peggy has met personally.  When Steph gets to Fury’s proposition, she slows down.

“What do you think, Peg?” Steph asks apprehensively.  “I mean, I sorta already said yes but…should I do it?”

“Join SHIELD, you mean?” Peggy replies.  “And this mysterious Charlie’s Angels group?”

Steph furrows her brow at the reference.  Peggy laughs.

“Oh my, you truly have missed a lot,” Peggy says humorously. 

“I’ve been told,” Steph grumbles.

“Well,” Peggy sighs.  “Steph, I think you already know your answer.  I know you, I know the kind of woman that you are.  And when you’ve been given a mission, you never fail.  That’s what makes you who you are, I’m afraid.”  Peggy smiles warmly at Steph.  “If you are asking if SHIELD is an honorable organization, I will tell you this: I may have helped found it in my day, but had I been the one in suspended animation for seventy years, SHIELD is where I would dedicate my particular set of talents.”

That’s enough of an answer for Steph.

“And I’ll tell you something else,” Peggy continues.  “As I was _not_ the one frozen for seventy years, I am now an old woman who needs medication and to get to sleep at a reasonable hour.  Now,” she squeezes Steph’s hand, “if you come back and visit, you and I can watch all of my favorite movies from the past century.  I think you’ll find them quite entertaining, and perhaps next time I make one of my few references, you will understand it.”

Steph very nearly begins to cry with happiness.

“Of course I’ll come back, Peggy,” Steph says.  “And I’d love to watch movies with you.” 

“Good,” Peggy responds softly.

At that, Peggy pushes the call button to summon a nurse to give her her nightly medication.  Steph stands, stretching, before leaning over and pressing a quick kiss on Peggy’s cheek.

“See ya, Peg,” Steph states affectionately.

Peggy sighs and smiles.  “Goodbye, Steph.”

Even harder than walking into the room is getting up and walking out.  But Steph does it, turning to blow one last kiss to Peggy before she slips through the door and back into the hallway. 

Maybe everything’s not so bad after all. 

    

 

 

 

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If ya'll want more, please please comment. I'll keep writing if people are reading.


	3. Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter, but the next one will be a little lengthier. Enter Winter Soldier. Some TW for PTSD, flashbacks, dissociation. LOTS of angst. But don't fret, next chapter, we get to some action

Toni is having a creative block.  Pepper is out of town.  Stark Tower is ahead of construction schedule.  Toni knows that she needs to figure out how she is going to reup the alternators so that the arc reactor that’s being built in the middle of the ocean as she sits here can be connected to power supply inlet of the building.  But she’s having a creative block.

It’s not that she hasn’t powered things with an arc reactor before, obviously.  And it’s not that she doesn’t have a working idea of how she can design the alternators so that the power supply can, eventually, hook into the block’s power grid.  It’s just that she’s having a hard time getting those ideas from her brain to the schematics in front of her.  And an even harder time getting the design from the schematics to actuality.      

Pepper is out of town.  Stark Tower is ahead of construction schedule.  Toni knows that she needs to figure out how she is going to reup the alternators so that the arc reactor that’s being built in the middle of the ocean as she sits here can be connected to power supply inlet of the building.  But she’s having a creative block.

So Toni decides to cut her losses.  For the last two hours, she’s been strung over a rolling chair, staring up at the ceiling of her workshop.  She finally sits up, cursing herself for laying in that awkward position for too long because now her neck hurts, and gets to her feet.  She’s got three weeks to get the alternators out of the way before Stark Tower will be ready for the power supply switch.  So instead, Toni’s going to work on what’s been _actually_ running through her head the last two hours, and that is the cuffs that Agent Romanoff had asked for—The Widow’s Bite—that’s what Toni’s been calling them in her head.  The project is relatively simple, Toni should have a working prototype by the end of the night.  And _then_ she can call Agent Romanoff and get her over here to try them out, give suggestions.

 Because, really, _that’s_ what Toni’s been thinking about for the last two hours.

Of course, just when Toni is really getting into the project, JARVIS interrupts with _terrible_ news.

“Ma’am, Agent Coulson is at the door for you.”

“Tell him to go away,” Toni snaps immediately.

“I am afraid that he is quite insistent on seeing you.”

“UHHGGGHHH!” Toni shouts dramatically, for nobody in particular.

“Is that a yes, ma’am?”

“It’s as close to a yes that Agent’s gonna get.”

Three minutes later, Agent himself is standing in front of Toni, a file in his hand.

“I’m getting real tired of you giving me homework, Coulson,” Toni says, walking away before Agent can try to hand the damn thing to her.  “What do you want?”

“Well, Ms. Stark, we know that you were tracking our recovery submarines a few months ago,” Agent Coulson begins crisply, in his no-nonsense way.  Which was a shame, because Toni loved nonsense.  “And we know that _you_ know what we found.”

Toni spins, putting a work table between herself and Agent.  “Don’t you mean ‘who,’ Agent?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“ _Who_ and what we found,” Coulson corrects.  “I’ve come by to drop off this file from Fury.  She would…like to arrange a meeting.”  Agent puts the file down on the desk in front of him.

“UHHHHH,” Toni cries, glad to have an audience for her tantrum this time around.  “Can’t you just give me the short version?”

“I’m afraid not, Ms. Stark.  You know I’ve been assigned as your handler for the Initiative.  Fury has insisted that you read the file.”

“Can’t I get another handler?” Toni says as she begins toying with a screwdriver, spinning it between her fingers.  “Like, oh, I don’t know, just someone off the top of my head, uhm- Agent Romanoff?  I’ll even pretend that I don’t know that she’s a SHIELD operative this time around.”

Agent Coulson fidgets, the hands behind his back straining as he nods slightly.  “I’m afraid that Black Widow is…on another assignment.”

Toni strides forward and snatches the file off of the table, flipping it open to the front page.  A smiling picture of Stephanie Rogers is staring back at her.

“ _Don’t_ tell me she’s been given to _this_ old-timer?” Toni cries.  “I can’t compete with Captain America.  Come on, Agent, you’re supposed to be my handler!  I thought you had my back!”

_That_ cracks Agent Coulson’s shell.  His brows furrow for a moment in confusion before he quickly regains his composure. 

“I mean _look at her_ ,” Toni continues, tugging on the stapled picture so she can hold it up and show it to Agent.  “I mean, I know I’m hot goods, but if Romanoff has a thing for blondes, well then, no ball.  I haven’t got a chance!  It’s like Abe Lincoln coming back from the dead.  Who wouldn’t want to bang him?  Am I right?”

When Toni glances up, Agent is _blushing_ , looking everywhere except the picture.

“Ohhhh my gooooood!” Toni gasps.  “You have a crush on Cap here don’t you, Agent?”  Coulson is sputtering, trying to laugh it off, but it only eggs Toni on.  “Oh, Agent.  I am sooo sorry to have to be the one to break this to you. But,” Toni takes a step closer so she can put the picture on the table, “I know lipstick lesbians and _that_ ,” Toni slams her finger down on the picture, “is the biggest lipstick lesbian I’ve ever seen.  Trust me on this one, Agent, I’m sorta an expert.  Because I happen to be dating one such lipstick lesbian.  I call ‘em when I see ‘em.”

“Please, just read the file.  Further instructions are on the last page,” Agent Coulson says rigidly, awkwardly turning to hurry out of the room.  “Have a good night, Ms. Stark.”

Toni snorts, turning to toss the folder on top of the piles of papers that she plans to forget about, happy that her ploy to get Agent Coulson out of the room actually worked.  Poor guy.  Toni may have been milking it, but there was no denying the blush the guy was trying to hide.  And Toni had been telling the truth when she told him that dear, old Captain Rogers swings for the same team.  Most kids growing up might have read about Stephanie Rogers and Bucky Barnes and thought _aw, what great friends_.  But Toni knew better, and she had the first-hand accounts regaled endlessly by her father to back her up.  And, most important of all, Toni had been digging in her dad’s archives one day as a twelve year old and had found a letter, addressed to one Stephanie G. Rogers, from Sergeant J. Barnes, dated May 1940, and the words had left very little to the imagination. 

There was no way in hell or earth that Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes _weren’t_ banging on the reg.

But hey, Toni wasn’t judging.  On the contrary, she was a little proud.  It took some serious tits to be a lesbian in the forties, especially a high profile lesbian.  Hell, it’s 2012 and Toni still gets _at least_ fifty nasty tweets sent at her every day.  Every modern day feminist has a “how Captain Rogers inspired me” story.  As far as Toni was concerned, everything special about Captain Rogers had come from Howard Stark.  Everything special _except_ this.  After she had found that letter, the “Captain America and the Howling Commandos” cartoon had taken on a whole new meaning.

Toni saunters back over to the Widow’s Bite prototype.  It’s getting late, but Toni Stark was never one to keep regular hours. 

“Hey JARVIS!” Toni calls.  “Put on some…Halestorm.  I think Lzzy Hale would approve of my work here.  Don’t you think, J?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting her, ma’am,” JARVIS says.  The next moment _Dirty Work_ is playing.

“Ooo, good selection, J,” Toni calls over the music.  “And I’ll arrange an introduction.  Now turn that shit up.  And start me some coffee…actually, scratch that.  Have Dum-E bring me some scotch.  Make sure he understands that if he spills it this time, he’s going into the recycling bin.”

“I’ll get right on that, ma’am.”

Toni smiles down at her work, wondering for the umpteenth time tonight how hard it would be to hack into the SHIELD system and get Agent Romanoff’s number.

Across the room, the file on Captain Stephanie Rogers sits unread.  Toni already knows everything she needs to know about Captain America.

 

***

It’s midnight in the suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of Toronto.  The streets are inky black, the night moonless.  A shadow passes unseen through the dark.  To an average observer, the streets are empty.  But the shadow is there, blacker than the night.  That shadow is death incarnate, the Grim Reaper, come to collect a soul.

The midsummer’s night is hot.  Sweat beads at the nape of the Soldier’s neck and slides down her back.  The Soldier acknowledges it, but it doesn’t bother her.  Nothing bothers her.  Not the ache in muscles from the training she can’t remember.  Not the migraine that makes her vision blurry from the wiping she can’t recall.  And definitely not the heat. 

The mission was clear and simple, and the Soldier’s mind is focused and empty.  Her programming is perfect, and it takes over.  This is easy.  This she can do.  On base, there is only pain.  The Soldier’s reprieve from the pain that she can’t remember but knows in her bones is her constant and only companion is when she is sent on mission.  Secretly, she prefers solo missions, even though she knows that she is not allowed to have preferences concerning anything.  Nobody slowing her down or making demands.  Nobody using trigger words or inflicting pain. 

The Soldier only knows this: she is the Fist of Hydra, and tonight that fist will snatch another life.

Slipping through the shadows unseen is easy, second nature.  The Soldier doesn’t have to think about moving silently and undetected, it just happens.  As easily as she knows to breath, the Soldier knows to be unseen, uncompromised.  There will be no evidence that the Soldier was ever here, not even in her own memory.  Only a body.  Not a footprint, not a stray fiber, not a drop of sweat.  Only the body of the man whose name the Soldier isn’t allowed to know, doesn’t care to know.

The Soldier approaches the house from the back, quietly screwing the silencer onto her pistol.  She shouldn’t need the weapon tonight, but the Soldier is never without at least six different weapons hidden somewhere on her body, not to mention the greatest weapon of all, the left arm that’s been smudged with dark paint to prevent it the silver from giving her away in the dark.  As the Soldier approaches, she can hear that a radio is playing.  Good, noise cover, easier mark.  That’s her only opinion on the music as she approaches the house.

The Soldier doesn’t know the date, has never known the date, wouldn’t care about the date if it were told to her.  But her handlers should have known better.  As it were, they didn’t, and the closer to the house the Soldier gets, the clearer the music becomes.

Toronto is close enough to catch New York radio stations.  One such station is playing “God Bless America” at the moment that the Soldier gets close enough to discern the words.  She’s been programmed to ignore superfluous details unless called upon in debriefing, so the lyrics have no effect.

But the melody is a different story.

There’s something familiar to the music, but the Soldier can’t put her finger on it.  Even though she knows that she shouldn’t, that she’ll regret it later when the pain comes, the Soldier stops and cants her head, trying to place where she knows the melody from.

Stephanie Rogers has been a problem for Hydra for many reasons, the least of which was her World War 2 tirade.  Even dead, Captain Rogers causes problems for Hydra.  Because no matter how strong they make the Soldier’s programming, no matter how many classical conditioning and positive punishment exercises they put the Soldier through, no matter how aggressive they make the wipe, no matter how comatose those wipes leave the Soldier, the sheer memory of Stephanie Rogers is always enough to break the conditioning.  There hasn’t been an incident in nearly thirty years, but the memory of Stephanie Rogers in the Soldier’s mind will always break through.

_The Soldier is in a field, sat on a checkered blanket.  Beside her is a small girl with a pretty face and blonde curls pinned neatly on her head.  The Soldier watches the girl, a feeling she has no name for spreading across her chest.  It’s foreign, but the Soldier likes it.  It’s a warm and comforting feeling, and warmth and comfort are things that the Soldier has no experience with.  She wants to touch the girl, she doesn’t care who sees, so she reaches across to tuck a stray curl behind the girl’s ear.  The girl turns, stunning blue eyes meeting the Soldier’s, and smiles, wide and genuine, ducking those lovely eyes shyly.  All the while, across the field littered with similarly patterned blankets and similarly blushing couples, an orchestra is on stage.  The Soldier turns to look at the orchestra_ but when she looks, she is only staring at her own masked reflection in a window.

The Soldier’s head is pounding.  She rubs her temples and wipes away the blood that is trickling from her nose.  That was a memory, she knows that much, and she’s not allowed to have those.  The memory had seemed so foreign, so strange, yet so familiar that it’s painful.  She feels so helpless, trying to chase those memories is like trying to recall a dream.  The feeling she had felt when she looked at the blonde girl…the Soldier feels like she should know the girl’s name.  She wants to feel that sensation again, but the memory is already slipping away as the Soldier’s programming chases it through her mind.  Despite the pain, the Soldier grabs onto the recollection.

_The blonde is looking at the Soldier again, eyes wide and full of affection._ Nobody has ever looked at the Soldier that way, this much she knows.  But somehow, the Soldier knows that whoever occupied this body before she did had been looked at with that much unashamed affection, and it makes the Soldier ache to know that.  _The Soldier reaches out and grabs the girl’s hand.  “Happy Birthday,” she whispers._ The Soldier doesn’t realize that she’s said it out loud.

The headache has become so debilitating that the Soldier almost falls to her knees.  Instead, she leans against the house.  For a long moment, she can’t remember who she is, where she is, what she was just doing.  She looks around, desperate and afraid.  The smiling face of a small blonde woman dances on the edges of her memory before blowing away like dust in the wind.  The emptiness that the Soldier feels in that moment is more terrifying than the pain that she knows is to come.

The mission.  Her mission.  The details assault her mind all at once and the Soldier immediately snaps to attention, rolling her left shoulder, the plates whirring quietly when she does so.  The sound is grounding, a small comfort, if the Soldier was allowed those kinds of things. 

The back door is open.  The Soldier slips into the house and up the stairs.  She knows the blueprints to the house even though she doesn’t remember ever learning them.  Top of the stairs, end of the hall, last door on the left.  The room is cluttered, dusty.  In the well-worn bed is the shape of a man.  The man is awake, staring up at the Soldier when she closes the door to the room behind her.

“I was wondering when you might come,” the man says in a heavy accent.  The Soldier can’t identify the language the man is speaking, but she’s still able to understand it as effortlessly as if it were her native tongue.  She has nothing to say to the man.  At first she goes rigid, fingers twitching for the pistol on her hip, but it quickly becomes clear that the old man poses no threat.  He’s made no move to leave his bed.  So the Soldier strides forward until she’s looming over him.

The man shakes his head, looking up at her.  “My, the Soviets did a number on you, Sar…” the man says a name, her name, but the Soldier cannot perceive it, can only hear it as an unpleasant roar in her ears.  “You don’t remember me, do you?”  The Soldier says nothing, doesn’t even move a muscle.  Of course she has no memory of this man.  His words mean almost nothing to her.  The man sighs, lying back against his pillows once more.  “Very well then, just please make it quick.”

The Soldier leans down without hesitation and takes the man’s neck in her right hand.  The movement is swift, practiced when she reaches across with her left hand quickly, snapping the man’s neck clean in two.  The Soldier stands, releasing the man, and he crumples like a rag doll into his bed.  By the time the Soldier leaves the room, she’s already forgotten the man’s face.

Back outside, the Soldier moves quickly toward the wood line.  Her pickup is two miles away, through dense forest.  But just as she ducks silently into the brush, across the river, miles away, a firework shoots into the sky, exploding in a shimmer of purple light.  The sound draws the Soldier’s attention and suddenly, she’s not at the edge of the woods anymore.

_The blonde on the checkered blanket stares up at the sky and the Soldier watches the fireworks reflected in her eyes.  The Soldier looks up at them herself but when she looks back at the blonde girl, the girl has changed drastically.  Same stubborn set to her jaw, same blonde curls and blue eyes, but instead of a white blouse and blue skirt, she’s wearing fatigues.  She’s dirty and she’s massive but the Soldier still loves her.  That much she knows.  “BUCK, WE HAVE TO GO!” the girl shouts over the explosions.  The Soldier watches the girl scramble to her feet through the mud, shouting at other women spread about the cold wet forest floor.  The Soldier grabs her rifle and scurries to her feet, reaching out to grab the girl’s offered hand.  But when she takes it, she’s back in the field with the checkered blanket, fireworks exploding overhead as the orchestra plays.  The Soldier tightens her grip on the girl’s hand, pulling her in tight as they dance together in the dark, knowing full well that someone could see them and not caring.  “I love you, Stephie,” Bucky whispers, but she also shouts it over the gunfire.  Steph leans in, a wild look in her weary eyes, kissing the Soldier hard before scooping up a shield and scrambling up the side of a trench._

The Soldier heaves in pain, falling to her knees in the woods, staring up at the fireworks overhead.  Her mind is racing, spinning.  She can’t settle on a single thought for very long without searing pain accompanying it, but one thought screams out above all the rest: _Stephie_.

The Soldier looks around, trying to get her bearings.  Bucky tries to remember the date, remember her name.  Another set of fireworks go off and Bucky watches them burn out above.  It’s the Fourth of July, Bucky suddenly remembers, Stephie’s birthday.  It’s already so late.  Bucky had promised to take Steph to the fireworks display for her birthday.  They were going to miss them!  Bucky had to get home to get Steph’s present—a new set of drawing charcoals.  And Bucky had to pack a picnic for the concert in the park.

The Soldier is running, but she doesn’t know where.  A face she can’t remember is smiling at her in her memories, calling her a name that she knows she’s not allowed to know.  The Soldier tries to fixate on the words, but the stabbing pain that comes when she concentrates brings her to her knees.

It’s early morning, just past 6:30, and the Sterling family is just starting their day.  Mr. Sterling is serving his two children pancakes while Mrs. Sterling packs their backpacks for summer camp.  They’ve only been living the apartment building on First Street in Brooklyn for a few weeks, not even a month.  They just moved to New York because Mrs. Sterling got a job in the city with a renowned law firm.   The renovated apartment building was one of the oldest in the city.  The rent was a bit high, but the apartment was spacious and lovely. The apartment is alive with music and activity and the smell of food.    

The youngest child is the first to see her.  She screams when the apparition of a woman dressed in all black, with a metal arm, and a mask covering her face bursts through the door.  She speaks to the Sterlings in slurred Russian but they can’t understand her.  The father goes for the gun he keeps hidden in the kitchen, but the woman in black grabs him and slams his head into the counter, killing him instantly.

When Hydra finally locates its asset almost two hours later, the Soldier is knelt in the middle of the apartment, the cooling bodies of the Sterling family spread about like some macabre art exhibit.  She’s muttering about sketching charcoals and fireworks, resisting when the Hydra agents try to get near her with a sedative.

One such agent flies across the room, a knife cut across her arm. 

“The bitch!” the agent shouts, furious.  She goes for her gun, but Agent Rumlow is there, grabbing her wrist.  They exchange serious looks before Rumlow tells her to wait outside.

“Something is really wrong with the asset,” Brock Rumlow says into his radio.  “She’s acting erratic.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  I have no idea what she’s doing in New York, but she’s killed the whole family in this apartment.”

“Steph,” the Soldier says weakly, looking up at Rumlow with desperate eyes.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Rumlow grumbles.  “Your brains been fried so many times that you’re crazier than bag of cats.

The next day, after the Soldier’s screams have stopped echoing down the concrete halls of the base facility in DC, and the cryogenic room has been locked, the report that is filed has two sentences in bold at the top.

RECOMMEND DO NOT DEPLOY ON JULY FOURTH IN FUTURE MISSIONS.  CHANCE OF ASSOCIATED MEMORY TRIGGER HEIGHTENED.

 

***

 

It was the day after Steph’s birthday that she finally bested Black Widow hand to hand.  The day before, nobody had been in the building, it was the Fourth of July, after all.  Steph had had the already usually empty compound in the outskirts of New York City all to herself.  She had really not wanted to think about how old she was.  She hadn’t wanted to contemplate whether she should consider herself 27 years old or 94 years old.  And she really hadn’t wanted to go outside when she knew that all she would hear, all day long, were explosions. 

So instead, Steph had spent the day destroying fourteen different punching bags.  It had been a while since she had wished she was still able to get drunk, but after she had demolished every punching bag that she could find, she was definitely wishing that last night.

She had wanted to run, but the gym was in the basement and the track was on the ground level.  And at 2130, Steph had found herself paralyzed on the stairs.  She could hear the fireworks going off outside and had found it physically impossible to climb the steps up to the track.  So instead, like a coward, Steph hid downstairs for the entire night, abusing the hell out of all the exercise equipment. 

The next morning, Steph was _sore_.  And tired.  And in a terrible mood.  And when Nat had come at her, Steph had caught her around the middle and slammed her onto the mat.

“Ow,” Nat gasped, breath knocked out of her.

“Shit!” Steph hisses.  She grabs Nat’s hand and pulls her to her feet.  “I’m so so sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Nat says, leaning over to put her hands on her knees and take a few deep breaths.  “You’re finally not pulling your punches.”

“I haven’t been pulling my punches,” Steph defended.

Nat straightens, clapping Steph on the back before she heads over to where Clara is crouched in the small set of bleachers, watching.

“Trust me,” Clara calls over, “you’ve been pulling your punches.”

Clara stands up to meet Nat.  When Steph glances over, they’re having a silent conversation.  They did that a lot, resorted to sign language because they knew Steph didn’t know it, whenever they wanted to talk about Steph right in front of her.  _I should really learn sign language_ , Steph thinks to herself just as the two of them are turning to walk towards her.

“So,” Steph says sourly as they come up to her, “what was that super-secret conversation about me about?”

“You’re ready,” Nat states simply.

“What?” Steph asks, taken aback.

“You’re ready, we’re both signing off on you,” Clara clarifies.

“Wait?  So all I had to do was hit you _hard_ enough and you say I’m ready to go?” Steph snaps.  She can’t shake her bitter mood.  But Nat just shrugs one perfect shoulder.

“Pretty much,” Nat says.

Steph scoffs, turning to stalk away from the pair.  Clara jogs up after her.

“Hey, Steph, wait up, hey, hey!  Wait a second!” Clara calls, trying to grab Steph only to have herself shoved backwards.  “Look, Nat’s a bitch.  It’s alright to say it.  We all know it,” Clara cracks a smile but Steph stays stony.  “Okay then…well, look…you’ve been training really hard.  We both told Fury we thought you were ready _weeks_ ago, but she reviewed the training tapes and said she wouldn’t okay you until you stopped taking it easy on Nat.”

“I wasn’t taking it easy,” Steph snaps.

“Okay, well, just Fury and Nat and I thought so but whatever, what do we know right?”

Steph turns again, she’s not putting up with these antics today.

“Come on, Steph,” Clara groans.  “This is good fucking news, alright!  No more training in a dark basement, you can finally ‘come out’ as Captain America, have a real goddam life, go on real goddam missions.  Don’t you want that?”

Yes.  Steph wants that.  She’s been cooped up in this compound for over four months.  The training was getting repetitive and frustrating.  She needs a purpose, a mission, and soon or she’s going to go fucking insane.  But Steph wasn’t about to give Clara the satisfaction of being right.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Steph growls.

Barton groans and throws up her hands, calling after Steph until Nat comes up to quiet her.

_Give her some space_ , Nat says in sign language.  _She had a bad day yesterday._

Clara gives Nat a quizzical look, and Nat points to the corner, where fourteen busted punching bags are stacked neatly, spilling their contents onto the floor like bodies spilling their organs through gunshot wounds.  Clara deflates.

_We shouldn’t have left her alone_ , she signs back.  Nat tilts her head and raises her eyebrows as if that was obvious.  They both hear the shower start.

“Come on,” Nat calls as she struts back to the mat.  “When was the last time you and I sparred?  You scared Barton?”

“You just wanna kick my ass because you couldn’t kick hers today,” Clara replies.  “Bruised ego.”  Clara follows Nat to the mat anyway.  Might as well practice against the best.

“You have me pegged,” Nat teases as she stalks in a circle around Clara.  “No dirty tricks,” Nat adds.

“Well that’s just not fair,” Clara points out.  “Dirty tricks are all I’ve got.”

In the shower, Steph turns the water as hot as it can go before stepping under the spray.  It hurts it’s so hot, but Steph doesn’t care.  She _wants_ it to hurt.  Because the memory that’s been playing on loop in her head is the memory of her last birthday before the war.  She was turning eighteen and Bucky had taken her to see a fireworks show in the park.  When the sun had gone down and the fireworks lit the sky, they had danced to the orchestra under the cover of night.  Because they hadn’t cared if anybody saw them.  Maybe it had been foolish, but nobody had paid them any mind.  It was the first time that Steph had felt like her love for Bucky was actually _real_.  And Bucky had felt the same because for the first time, but certainly not the last, she had leaned in close, kissed Steph’s lips, and told her that she loved her.

The memory tormented Steph, and she hated it.  She wanted the hot water to burn the memory from her mind.  But instead, she only sunk further into her grief.  When she screamed, her agonized voice echoed off the tile walls. 

When Clara and Nat found Steph a few minutes later—curled in a tight ball on the floor under a scalding stream of water, eyes empty and distant—there was a crumbling hole in the wall where Steph’s fist had connected with the tile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the Amazons will be united for the first time. HOORAY!


	4. Amazons Assemble: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of material from the movie. Sorry it took so long to write. It took me a while (and a few viewings of the movie, plus one in ten second intervals to catch the dialogue right) to decide what parts from what perspectives I wanted to do. In the end, I left out certain parts because I'm sure we've all seen the movie and I don't need to verbalize synchronic fight scenes for you when I could get into the juicier, angstier parts. You can fill in the blanks as you please. This is also a bit longer than the other chapters. I hope you enjoy!

The press release was a circus.  Toni stayed near the back, red shades on, leaning against a wall and trying to act inconspicuous.  But inconspicuous was impossible for Toni Stark, and it was definitely impossible for Iron Woman.  Reporters shoved recorders in her face and asked her what she thought of the announcement before the announcement had even happened.  Toni had waved them off, wishing that Pepper was back from her trip. 

Eventually, though, Agent Coulson put himself behind the podium and all the cameras and reporters turned towards him and Toni was finally left in peace.  She shifted to watch Agent through narrowed eyes.  The press may not know all of the details of this release, but Toni sure did.  The file on Steph Rogers was still unread in Toni’s workshop somewhere, but Toni knew well enough that when SHIELD announced one of their very, very few press events, what breaking news they had in mind.

Agent Coulson leans towards the microphone, greeting all of the reporters curtly before launching into his statement.  Toni had to give him props, he wasn’t reading from a card.

“On March 12th , SHIELD search and recovery submarines were dispatched to the Artic, with one goal in mind: locating and recovering the Hydra vessel known as the Valkyrie, famously put down in the Artic by Captain Stephanie Rogers, better known as Captain America, in a selfless maneuver that prevented nine nuclear devices from launching.  The actions of Captain Rogers have lived on in infamy since.  However, until recently, the Valkyrie and, more importantly, the remains of Captain Rogers were never recovered.”  Toni can feel the anticipation buzzing in the room.  But she knows that they all think that all the subs found were “remains.”  Toni can’t imagine the frenzy that will break out when the actual Captain Rogers steps onto the stage.  “The Valkyrie was located by our submarines.  However, no remains were recovered.”  There’s a mummer raising in the crowd.  “Instead, what was found was the body of Captain Rogers in suspended animation, a phenomenon allowed by the serum that Captain Rogers was so famously administered in 1941.”  Some of the reporters are realizing what Agent is saying, and they’re beginning to shout.  It throws Coulson off.  He tries to quiet the crowd, but is unsuccessful.  So finally he furrows his brow and finishes quickly.  “I am pleased to announce that Captain Stephanie Rogers is alive and has made a full recovery.”

The roar is deafening.  Toni stands up straighter because there is a commotion behind the stage.  Then, looking like a baby deer in the headlights, Stephanie Rogers herself is thrust behind the podium.  Agent Coulson slips off the stage and is replaced by a stocky woman with short, sandy hair who glares at the crowd as Rogers waves pathetically.

“We’ll be taking questions at this time,” the sandy haired woman says bluntly into the microphone.

“Yes, Michele Louis, Washington Post,” says the first reporter that the sandy haired woman jabbed a finger at.  “How is it that Captain Rogers survived the crash and is here now?”

“Well, as you all know, Captain Rogers was the only successful candidate for the ‘Super Soldier Program’ in 1941.  The accelerated healing factor and strengthened bodily resistance allowed Captain Rogers to remain in suspended animation for the last sixty eight years, until recovered and revived by SHIELD scientists in March.  Next question.”

The circus continues, but Toni is slipping along the side of the room, trying to get back stage.  She practically barrels into a short, skinny high school aged girl with a camera who awkwardly apologizes without making eye contact.  Other than that, Toni is able to slip unencumbered behind the black curtain of the stage.

“Agent!” Toni cries.  Coulson turns, tired eyes falling on Toni. 

“Ms. Stark, you are not allowed back her,” Agent recites, sounding weary.

Toni walks past him, clapping him on the back.

“International espionage is nothing compared to the vultures out there, am I right?” she says as she passes him.

“I’m serious, Ms. Stark.  You can’t be back here.”

“You and Fury want me to meet Captain America, don’t you?  I mean, I assume that’s what the report says.  I didn’t actually read it.”

Agent Coulson pinches the bridge of his nose hard, sighing. 

“Fury around?” Toni asks, putting her hands in her pockets. 

“No, Ms. Stark, Director Fury has more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.”

Toni nods.  There aren’t many people back stage.  But she suddenly catches glimpse of a shock of red hair.  Toni claps Agent Coulson on the back again.

“Nice catching up,” Toni says as she begins to walk away.  Agent Coulson calls after her, but Toni pays her no mind. 

“A-gent Rom-an-off,” Toni says as she wheels around to face the beautiful redhead.

Romanoff gives Toni an apprising look before responding.

“Ms. Stark.  Good to see you again,” Romanoff says curtly. 

“That’s all I get?” Toni says in mock hurt.  “A ‘good to see you’?”

“Is Ms. Potts around?” Romanoff asks, looking around back stage like she might see Pepper standing there.

“Oh no, she’s on a very important business trip to Paris, or maybe it’s Seoul.  She is the CEO of a multi-billion dollar cooperation, after all.”

Romanoff raises a single arched eyebrow.

“I’ve been working on your Widow’s Bite,” Toni blurts out.  “When are you going to come around a test it out?  Let me know how you like it?”

Romanoff is too smart to let the double entendre go over her head.

“Ms. Stark, I have the feeling that we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming weeks,” Romanoff says before turning and stalking away.

“Damn it,” Toni curses under her breath. 

Across the way, Toni sees Agent Coulson leaving.  Suddenly, Toni is alone back stage.  She listens, but the chatter out front has died down.  Toni strides towards the black curtains, parting them to see most of the press milling about.  Rogers is nowhere to be seen.

“ _Damn it_ ,” Toni curses again.

Toni whips out her phone, pressing the call button a little too aggressively.

“Hey, Peps,” Toni greets.  “How’s the meeting going?”

Pepper tells Toni that the merger deal is going well, but that the Korean company wants to see the actuality of Stark Tower being independently powered by clean energy before they’ll agree to sign.

“Great,” Toni says.  “Because I need you here.”

“You do?” Pepper asks.  “Why?”

Because I miss you.  Because I’m lost without you.  Because when you’re not around I just kick around my workshop aimlessly.  Because Captain America has come out as alive publicly and whatever follows I need you for.

“I mocked up the alternators last night.  I want to finish the connect on Monday,” Toni settles on.  “As CEO of Stark Industries, it would be foolish for you to not be present for such a momentous occasion.”

Pepper teases Toni a bit, but agrees to get on the plane home as soon as possible.

Relief she didn’t know she was craving spreads across Toni’s chest.  Toni adjusts her red lensed glasses and strides out past the black curtains. 

 

***

 

“What the hell are we going to do about this?!” Sitwell practically screams, throwing the newspaper down on Pierce’s desk.

Pierce glances up lazily to read the headline.  He’s not surprised.  He had seen the news.  Sighing, he dry washes his face before leveling a bored stare at Sitwell.

“Sitwell, are you under the impression that you can stride into my office whensoever you please?” Pierce asks.

“Rogers is alive!” Sitwell cries, exasperated.  “What the hell are we going to do about it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you are asking.”

Sitwell throws his hands up dramatically.

“Don’t know what I’m asking you?” Sitwell says, pacing a bit.  “How the hell are we ever going to send the Winter Soldier into the field again?!  You saw what happened last week.  If the Soldier ever runs into Rogers on a mission, I don’t know what the hell will happen.  It’ll probably break her programming!  We can’t risk it!  Rogers needs to be taken care of!”

Pierce rolls his eyes. 

“We can’t kill Rogers,” Pierce states.  “She just came back to life.  That would look a bit suspicious, don’t you think?  Besides, Fury’s already scurried her away to one of her safe houses.”

“How did you not know about this?!” Sitwell asks.

“You know how Director Fury is,” Pierce replies.  “She sent those subs under the pretense of salvaging housing units for the Tesseract, I didn’t know that they found the Valkyrie.  As powerful as you may think I am, Fury is a master of secrets.  When she doesn’t want anybody to find out about something, they don’t.”

“Well then what the hell are we going to do?  We can’t send the Soldier back into the field with Rogers likely to respond to any calls.”

“Then we don’t,” Peirce says flatly.  “Keep her in cryo.  We don’t need her, not for a while.”

Sitwell whines theatrically. 

“Sitwell, Hydra is not the basement dwelling, skeleton of an organization that it was when I took charge.  In the nineties, Hydra needed the Winter Soldier.  But now, we don’t.  Project Insight is on schedule, reaching the end of Phase Two within the month.  The Winter Soldier going out on mission poses too big of a threat of discovery, especially now that Rogers is around to identify her.  We can’t have any attention on us, not now.  This is a critical time.”  Pierce takes a sharp breath of air through his nose, nostrils flaring, a wild look in his eyes for a moment before it’s gone.  “Soon the vision of Johann Schmit will be realized.  Project Insight will make Hydra a world power once again.  _The_ world power.  I will not do anything that will jeopardize all the work we have done these past ten years.  The Soldier stays in cryo.  And I’m transferring you to the Insight Team.”

Sitwell grinds his teeth for a moment.  His next words are chosen carefully. 

“And Rogers, sir?”

“All in good time, Mr. Sitwell,” Pierce says, eyes going back to his computer, signaling that the conversation is over.  “All in good time.”

 

***

 

Steph is exhausted.  She hates being the center of attention.  People always assume she loves it.  Captain America must love having every eye on her.  But, in actuality, it only makes Steph anxious. 

She had hoped that getting back to training and, now, missions would help her mood.  Unfortunately, not long after the press event and welcoming party, it seemed that all the agents scattered to the wind.  The balding agent that Barton had called Coulson had disappeared within minutes of his short announcement.  Barton herself had followed not long after.  The next morning, as Steph was headed to the gym, she ran into Romanoff. 

“Barton’s been transferred to a high security detail in Arizona,” Nat had said plainly, throwing up her hands in defense when she saw Steph’s face.  “That’s all I know.  Plus,” she chewed her lips for a moment before giving Steph an apologetic glance.  “Fury’s called me to DC.  I’m headed out this afternoon.”

“Well,” Steph had sighed.  “Maybe May will spar with me.”

Nat cringed just a bit.

“I’m sorry, Steph,” Nat apologized slowly.  “Since you’ve ‘come out,’ your detail has been cut in half.  May’s been reassigned.”

Steph tried to hide the hurt on her face as she told Nat she understood.  But that doesn’t hide the fact that, once again, Stephanie Rogers is alone in this world.

So, a few days later, when Steph’s had her share of kicking around the compound, she slips her guard and takes a short road trip.  Because in those few days that she had been alone, she had gotten angry.  Angry at SHIELD, for leaving her on her own.  Angry at Fury, for telling Steph that once she was cleared, she could go on missions too, and then, apparently, changing her mind.  Angry at herself, for letting herself get her hopes up once again.  Angry at the world, for disappointing her.

The old boxing gym in Brooklyn was still there, surprisingly.  It was still painted an off blue color inside, with peeling pictures of short, stocky men in nothing but shorts and gloves as its main décor.  It still smelled like sweat and chalk.  But Steph hadn’t felt so at home since she had woken up.  Because this was where Bucky had taken her, when they were teenagers and Bucky had wanted to teach Steph how to defend herself against the guys who’d catcall her from stoops or grope her on the train to work.  This was also where Bucky had come on Friday nights to fight for a little extra money, keeping a straight face and a twinkle in her eye when the boys she was up against would laugh in her face, call her “sweetheart” and tell her to go home before she thoroughly handed them their ass.  And it was in the damp locker room (there had only been one in those days), alone, late at night, after a particularly hard training session that Steph had grabbed Bucky and shoved her against the wall, kissing her hard, for the first time.

Steph doesn’t know how much time has passed, but she’s still alone in the tiny gym.  She’s sweating and she’s wailing on another bag, she doesn’t know how many she’s gone through.  She’s angry and she’s alone and she’s taking it all out on the punching bag.  The thoughts that haunt her are hitting her back just as hard.  It’s the war, mostly, that she’s thinking about.  Not about anything specific, not really.  Just flashes that she can’t control.  Storming a Hydra base in Italy with the Commandos.  Waking up in Bucky’s arms in a dank tent to the sound of gunfire.  The snarling, red face of Schmit, mocking her.  Steering the Valkyrie into the ice, Peggy pleading with her over the radio.

Steph hurls a punch at the bag that she knows is going to be too hard.  The bag splits open and flies from the hook, landing across the room and skidding to a stop against the wall.  Steph pants, tries to get her bearings, blinks hard to erase that memory from her head.  She breathes through her nose, letting a smell of the gym ground her in reality as she turns to get another bag.

Steph’s stopped being surprised when people find her when she runs away.  She knows there’s a tracking device in her car, she’s tried to disable it twice, but it never works.  But she is a bit surprised when she hears Fury’s voice. 

“Trouble sleeping?” Fury calls from the doorway.

Steph turns.  She hasn’t seen Fury in weeks, not even at her welcoming party. 

“I slept for seventy years, ma’am,” Steph says, turning back to her bag.  “I think I’ve had my fill.”

“Then you should be out celebrating, seeing the world.”  Fury begins to stride towards Steph, hands behind her back, signature black trench coat gone, replaced by a simple black business suit. 

Steph stops, dropping her fists.  She pants a bit as she takes in Fury, trying to figure out what to say.  When her mouth starts moving, she barely knows what she’s saying.  The days and all of her thoughts catching up to her as she begins to unwind the tape on her knuckles.

“I went under, the world was at war,” Steph begins, walking towards her gym bag, unable to look at Fury. “I wake up, they say we won.  They didn’t say what we lost,” she adds, trying not to sound broken.  _What I lost_ , she thinks.  Nobody seems to be too concerned about that.

“We’ve made some mistakes along the way,” Fury replies.  “Some very recently.”

Fury’s taken her hands from behind her back and Steph notices the folder in her grip.  Steph eyes it for a moment.

“You here with a mission, ma’am?” Steph asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“I am.”

“Trying to get me back in the world,” Steph asks bitterly, looking down again.  She doesn’t know why she’s angry, she should be glad to hear that Fury finally has a mission for her.  But her thoughts of late have soured the hopefulness she had felt before.

“Trying to save it,” Fury responds lightly.

Right.  Of course.  Another Monday.  Steph sits down. 

But now Fury is holding the folder open, handing it to Steph, and Steph definitely recognizes the picture on the first page.

“Hydra’s secret weapon,” Steph says, looking at the blue cube labelled “TESSERACT.”  She takes the folder from Fury.

“Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you,” Fury says as Steph turns the page to find a series of black and white photos.  “He thought what we think,” Fury continues as Steph glances up at her.  “The Tesseract could be the key to unlimited, sustainable energy.  That’s something the world sorely needs.”

Steph closes the folder and hands it back to Fury.

“Who took it from you?”

“She’s called Loki,” Fury pauses to muse for a second.  “She’s…not from around here.  There’s a lot we’ll have to bring you up to speed on if you’re in.  The world has gotten even stranger from what you already know.”

Steph resists the urge to roll her eyes at the melodrama.  “At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me,” she sighs, getting to her feet.

“Ten bucks says your wrong,” Fury challenges. 

Steph turns away from Fury, grabbing her things and bending to grab another punching bag on her way out.

“There’s a debriefing packet for you back at your apartment,” Fury calls after her.  “Anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”

“You should have left it in the ocean,” Steph replies bitterly, not looking back.

On the drive home, Steph has to admit to herself that her interest has been piqued.  Whether it’s the fact that this is the offer for a mission, a purpose, or it’s because she somehow feels obligated to ensure this Loki doesn’t try to use the Tesseract the way that Hydra had used it, she doesn’t know.  All that she knows is that she can’t help but pick up the folder marked “CLASSIFIED: TOP SECRET” that’s waiting for her when she gets back to the compound.

 

***

 

Toni is glad that Pepper is home.  She finishes installing the alternators in the bay, and they work perfectly—not that she’d expect any less, she is sorta a genius and all. 

“How’s it look?” Pepper asks.

Toni looks up at the building with a smile.

“Like Christmas,” Toni smirks.  “But with more _me_.”

“We gotta go wider on the public awareness campaign.  You need to do some press,” Pepper begins, already onto the next thing.  That’s probably why Toni loves her.  “I’m in DC tomorrow, I’m working on the zoning of the next three buildings.”

“Pepper,” Toni interrupts.  “You’re killing me.  The moment.  Remember?  _Enjoy the moment_ ,” Toni reminds her.

“Well get in here and I will,” Pepper replies, voice going husky.

Well, Toni was never one to turn down a good offer.

“Ma’am,” JARVIS says as she lands, interrupting Toni’s fantasies, “Agent Coulson of SHIELD is on the line for you.”

“I’m not in,” Toni says immediately.  “I’m actually out.”  Technically. 

“Ma’am, I’m afraid he’s insisting.”

Isn’t he always?

“Grow a spine, JARVIS,” Toni snaps.  “I got a date.”

Pepper is in front of a holo screen, looking at the buildings schematics.  Toni can’t help but smile at the way she bites her lip.  Toni can’t help but feel other things about the way Pepper looks in those short jean shorts. 

“Levels are holding steady,” Pepper says.  “I think.”

“Well of course they are.  I was directly involved.  Which brings me to my next question,” Toni says as she comes even with Pepper.  Pepper glances up as Toni passes behind her.  “How does it feel to be a genius?”

“Well, I really wouldn’t know, now would I?”

Toni reaches around Pepper to turn off the screen as Pepper turns, leaning back against the table.  Toni steps in closer.

“What do you mean?” Toni replies quickly.  “All of this came from you.”  Toni really is trying to sound earnest here, but Pepper just rolls her eyes.

“All of this, came from _that_.”  Pepper’s finger lands on the arc reactor embedded in Toni’s chest.

“Give yourself some credit, please.”  Toni takes another step forward, running her hands down Pepper’s sides to rest on her waist.  “Stark Tower is _your_ baby.  Give yourself…twelve percent of the credit.”

“Twelve percent,” Pepper says flatly, unimpressed. 

“An argument can be made for fifteen!” Toni responds.  But Pepper is turning, walking away.

“Twelve percent?” she repeats, a little louder.  “My baby?”

Toni turns to follow her.  “Well I did do all of the heavy lifting.  Literally.  I lifted heavy things.”  Pepper kneels down by the table, grabbing the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket.  “And, I’m sorry, the security snafu.  That was on you.  My private elevator-“

“You mean our elevator?” Pepper says, flipping her hair and shooting Toni and incredulous look.  Toni knows exactly what memory Pepper is referring to.  It makes Toni smile a bit before she resumes her mock-serious face. 

“It was _teeming_ with sweaty workmen,” Toni points out as she sits down next to Pepper.  Pepper is pouring two glasses of champagne, and Toni already likes where this night is going.  “I’m going to pay for that percentage comment in some subtle way later, aren’t I?”

“It’s not gonna be that subtle,” Pepper says, a mischievous grin on her face as she hands Toni one of the glasses.      

“I tell you what,” Toni levels, “next building is gonna say ‘Potts’ on the tower.”

“On the lease,” Pepper corrects, going to clink her glass against Toni’s.

“Call your mom,” Toni replies, pulling her glass out of reach.  “Can you bunk over?”

“Ma’am, the telephone,” JARVIS interrupts.  “I’m afraid my protocols are being overridden.”

“Ms. Stark!” Agent Coulson calls over the speaker.  “We need to talk.”

Toni sighs, grabbing her Stark Phone and holding it up.

“You have reached the life model decoy of Toni Stark.  Please leave a message.”

“This is urgent!” Coulson replies. 

“Then leave it urgently,” Toni says coolly. 

The elevator doors open and Toni and Pepper turn to find Agent Coulson, looking annoyed. 

“Security breach!” Toni cries.  “It’s on you.”

“Phil!” Pepper says pleasantly, moving to stand up.  “Come in.”

“ _Phil_?” Toni muses, making a face as she goes to follow Pepper.

“I can’t stay,” Agent Coulson says, stepping out of the elevator.

“His first name is ‘Agent,’” Toni points out at the same time Pepper says, “Come on in.  We’re celebrating.”

“Which is why _he_ can’t stay,” Toni says, pointing to “Phil” before plastering a fake smile on her face.

“We need you to look this over,” Coulson says, a menacing looking tablet in his hand, “as soon as possible.”

“I don’t like being handed things,” Toni states, uncomfortable as she takes a step back.

“That’s fine,” Pepper says, “because I love to be handed things.  So, let’s trade.”  She hands Agent Coulson her glass of champagne and takes the tablet from him.  She then turns and takes Toni’s glass, putting the heavy tablet in his hands.  “Thank you,” she says with a false smile.

“Official consulting hours are between 8 and 5, every other Thursday” Toni tells Coulson, who is still holding the glass in front of him awkwardly. 

“This isn’t a consultation.”

“Is this about the Amazons?” Pepper asks, curious, before realizing her mistake.  “Which I know nothing about,” she adds. 

“Psh,” Toni huffs, unfolding the tablet.  “The Amazon Initiative has been scraped, I thought,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away from Agent Coulson.  “And I didn’t even qualify.”

“I didn’t know that either,” Pepper promises.

“Yeah, apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others,” Toni lists, turning to look at Coulson while still walking backwards towards her computer. 

“ _That_ I did know,” Pepper says.

“This isn’t about personality profiles anymore,” Coulson calls, glass still held in front of him like a shield. 

“Whatever,” Toni snorts.  She’s pulled open the first file on the tablet.  Setting it down, she motions at Pepper.  “Ms. Potts?  Got a second?”

Toni is scrolling through the database as Pepper comes up beside her.

“I thought we were having a moment,” Toni says under her breath.

“I was having twelve percent of a moment,” Pepper replies.  They meet eyes for a moment before Pepper turns to glance at Agent Coulson.  “This seems pretty serious.  Phil seems pretty shaken.”

“How would you know if it’s—why is he ‘ _Phil_?’”

Pepper is looking down at the screen now, where the faces of five individuals are looking back.

“What is all of this?” Pepper asks.

“This is…” Toni throws the files onto her own holo screens, “…this.”

Each screen shows a different profile and video.  Toni recognizes them all.  There’s Dr. Banner’s Mrs. Hyde rampaging through a campus.  There’s the alien, Thor destroying some sort of robot in a small town in the desert.  There’s Agent Romanoff and the sandy haired woman from the press release in the middle of some ruins, firing at unseen enemies from their makeshift bunker.  In the center is Stephanie Rogers, the video of her from World War 2, storming the beaches of Normandy.  Suddenly Toni is wishing that she had agreed to that meeting.

“Phew,” Pepper breaths.  “I’m going to take the jet to DC tonight.”

“Tomorrow,” Toni insists.

“You have homework,” Pepper points out.  “A lot of homework.”

Toni wants to stamp her foot and throw a fit.  But she doesn’t because she’s an adult, as nice as having a tantrum would be right now.  Because she hadn’t seen Pepper in weeks, and because they were supposed to be _celebrating_.  But, of course, _Phil_ had to come and ruin the mood, because he’s a chronic killjoy.  Does that dude ever have any fun?  Because Toni is fairly certain the smile muscles in his face are atrophied. 

“Well what if I didn’t?” Toni asks, turning to face Pepper, suddenly serious.

“If you didn’t?  You mean, once you finish?” Pepper looks Toni up and down.  Pepper knows Toni.  She knows what she’s asking.  And she knows there’s no way in hell that Toni would turn this down.  “Well, um, then,” she steps closer, putting her lips to Toni’s ears.  “ _Then_ we would get to have our celebration.  To include the new toy that I bought for you.  It’s made of leather.”

Toni gasps in mock-surprise, purposefully making eye contact with Agent Coulson across the room.  Coulson drops his gaze awkwardly.  Pepper steps away.

“Square deal. Fly safe.”  Toni smirks, happy with Pepper’s proposition and with making Phil feel uncomfortable.  Pepper leans in and kisses Toni, palms pressed against Toni’s chest.  Toni breaths in sharp through her nose and leans into the kiss.  She needs this.  She needs Pepper.  But there’s also a nagging part of her that needs to read these files, see what they’re about.  There’s a part of her that needs to be needed.

“Work hard,” Pepper whispers, breaking the kiss.  Toni sighs, flashing a small smile as Pepper turns to walk away.  She and Phil are talking but Toni turns her eyes to the screens before her.  Toni can’t hear what they’re saying because she’s noticed something on screen.  She leans forward and grabs the blue cube.

The Tesseract.  Toni knows precisely what this thing is.  It’s what her father found at the bottom of the ocean when he was looking for Captain Rogers.  It was part of a secret Nazi weapons program.  It was confiscated from Howard by the government in 1982.  And, from the looks of it, SHIELD’s gone and lost it.

Toni sighs, snatching up Pepper’s discarded champagne glass and downing its contents.  It’s going to be a long night.  

 

***

 

Steph stares down at the screen in her hands.  A video is playing.  And it’s not pretty.  A massive green _monster_ is tearing its way through a college campus.  Next to the video is a picture of a woman with dark, curly hair and a pair of thick glasses.  “DR. JENNIFER BANNER” the subscript reads.  It makes Steph’s head hurt to think about.

“So this Dr. Banner was trying to replicate the serum they used on me?” Steph asks.

The agent named Coulson pulls the headphones off his head and comes to stand beside Steph.

“A lot of people were,” he explains, and it makes Steph cringe.  For some reason, she feels guilty, even though there is no reason she should feel that way.  But this poor woman, this doctor, was trying to replicate Erksine’s formula, trying to become like Steph.  Somehow, Steph feels culpable for the failure.  “You were the world’s first superhero.”  That statement makes Steph cringe even more.  “Dr. Banner thought gamma radiation held the key to unlocking Erksine’s original formula.”

Steph sighs and looks back down at the video.  The green monster grabs a civilian and throws him into a building.  Steph’s brow furrows. 

“Didn’t really go her way, did it,” Steph observes.

“Not so much,” Agent Coulson agrees.  “When she’s not that thing, though, she’s like a Stephen Hawking.”

Steph looks up at Agent Coulson, a question on her face.  God, she hates references. 

“He’s like a…smart person,” Coulson explains awkwardly.  Steph looks back down at the screen, but Coulson continues.  “I gotta say.  It’s an honor to meet you, officially.”  Steph forces herself to smile up at him.  Great.  Another one.  “I sorta met you.  I mean, I watched you, while you were sleeping.”

Okay, end of this conversation.

“I mean, I was present,” Coulson corrects as Steph gets to her feet, “while you were unconscious from the ice.”

Steph walks past him.  She can’t deal with this.  But Agent Coulson doesn’t quit, he follows her to the cockpit where she’s trying to watch the open water fly by and tune the guy out.

“You know really it’s-it’s just a huge…huge honor to have you on board.”  The guys stumbling, and it’s making Steph feel awkward. 

“Well,” Steph sighs, purposefully not making eye contact.  She really just wants him to go away.  “I hope I’m the woman for the job.”

“Oh you are!” Coulson respond immediately.  “Absolutely.  Uh, we made some, uhm, modification.  To the uniform.  I had a little design input.”

Great.  Steph’s gonna be running around in a tank top and skirt.  It’ll feel like the good old days, when the government made her into a chorus girl.

“The uniform?” Steph asks.  “Aren’t the stars and stripes a little old fashioned?”  God, she hopes so.  Stephanie Rogers can be a part of this mission.  That’s for damn sure.  But Steph doesn’t know if she can be Captain America again.  This whole time, she was fairly sure that she was going to just become a SHIELD agent, like Romanoff and Barton.  Running around in red, white and blue doesn’t sound quite so appealing.  She had worn that awful leotard into battle because it was all she had the first time.  And she had only kept it because Bucky had liked it so much.

Bucky.  Right.  Jeez, she needs to stop fucking thinking about Bucky.

Coulson sighs.

“With everything that’s happening, the things that are about to come to light?  People might just…need a little old-fashioned,” Agent Coulson says cryptically. 

Steph stares at him.  She doesn’t say anything but she’s thinking _not again_.  She really should have thought this through.  She needs to stop diving into things head first, without even a glance spared beforehand.  Because she doesn’t know if she can handle holding the weight of freedom on her shoulders again.  She doesn’t know if she can handle having all the expectations that come along with being Captain America hoisted upon her again.

The first time around had been hard enough.  It was already shitty, being a woman in the military.  Add on top of that being queer, and being in love with your platoon sergeant, and also having feelings for someone else, and getting used to a new body, and having a camera crew wanting to follow you around half the time.  It hadn’t been a cakewalk, but she did it.  Because it had to be done.  Because she had Bucky there with her the entire time.  Because they could do anything together, and when Steph was with Bucky she actually _felt_ like a hero.

And the US Government had gone and told the world that the whole thing was fake.  Just a movie.  Just some actresses in a studio somewhere winking about the camera and posing for pinups.  Oh yeah, Steph had seen the pinups.  It took one Google image search of “Captain America” to find those. 

Steph doesn’t know if she can handle all of that again.  Yet, here she is, on this jet, talking to Agent Coulson, about to land on an aircraft carrier and go chasing after a literal alien who wants to take over the world.  Goddammit, how does this keep happening?

Steph is grateful when the pilot tells them to get in their seats.  It means she doesn’t have to talk to Coulson anymore.  And the pilot’s voice pulls her out of her own head.  She can just let herself stare out the window at the quickly approaching aircraft carrier and pretend not to notice Agent Coulson staring.  She doesn’t think he has any nefarious intentions, but she’s still had her fair share of fanfare.  She doesn’t want anymore, least of all from someone who is supposed to be helping her on this seemingly very important mission. 

Landing on the massive vessel goes smoothly.  Steph is filled with relief when she gets off the jet to see Nat striding across the runway towards them.  But Steph isn’t reassured when she notices the look on Nat’s face.  Romanoff is usually stony, hard to read, purposefully blank.  But now?  She’s hiding it well, but Steph can see the stress line at the corner of her mouth, her jaw working anxiously.  Steph wants to ask where Barton is, if she’s on this mission too, what Nat knows that Steph doesn’t?  But she doesn’t get to because Coulson is speaking up before Steph gets the chance to say anything.

“Hi,” Nat says tersely with a curt nod before telling Coulson that he’s needed elsewhere.  Coulson is walking away and Steph is grateful that it’s just her and Nat now.

“It was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice,” she says.  Steph can’t help but laugh a little.  Nat had been there at the press announcement.  She had seen the circus that had erupted.  But Steph hadn’t been around when the rest of SHIELD was informed.  “I thought Coulson was gonna swoon.  Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?”

Oh fantastic.  Just what Steph needs: seeing her face on a trading card and spending more time with Coulson acting all starry eyed.

“Trading cards?” Steph asks, unimpressed.

“They’re vintage.  He’s very proud.”

Across the runway, Steph spots Jennifer Banner, stumbling awkwardly about outside of a jet.  She’s dressed in a worn brown pants and a jacket that looks a size too big for her.  She looks nervous and like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.  Steph can’t help herself from calling out.

“Dr. Banner!”  Jennifer Banner turns and Steph has to stop herself from blurting out “I’m sorry!”

“Oh, yeah, hi,” Dr. Banner says slowly, brow tightening.  Steph wonders what is going through her head.  “They told me you’d be coming.”

“Word is you can find the cube,” Steph says as she shakes Dr. Banner’s hand.

Dr. Banner wrings her hands together, looking around suspiciously.

“Is that the…only word on me?” she asks nervously.

“Only word I care about.”  Steph offers a reassuring smile.

Dr. Banner chews on her cheek, nodding as she takes Steph in.

“It must be strange for you, all of this.”  Dr. Banner gestures vaguely around her with her hands.

“Well,” Steph says, looking at the formation running by in their SHIELD physical training uniform to a cadence Steph knows well.  Guess some things never change.  “This is actually kind of familiar.”

“Ladies,” Nat interrupts, coming to stand between them, “you might want to step inside for a minute.  It’s gonna get kinda hard to breath.”

All of a sudden, a loud whirring begins.  The vessel is shifting underneath them and a voice on a PA is calling for the flight crew to secure the deck.

“Is this a submarine?” Steph asks.

“Really,” Dr. Banner says, echoing Steph’s surprise. “They want me in a submerged pressurized container.”

Steph would cringe at that grim reminder, but she’s moving towards the edge of the carrier, looking over the side.  Both she and Dr. Banner watch in stunned silence as the turbines emerge out of the water, powering up and beginning to rotate.  The entire craft shudders as suddenly it’s lifted from the water.  Steph stumbles a step back, eyes wide.  But Dr. Banner is just laughing.

“Oh no,” Dr. Banner calls over the sound of the turbines, “this is much worse!”

The carrier whirs loudly as it lifts into the air.  On deck, the crew are donning oxygen masks.  Nat claps both on them on the shoulder and tells them to follow her inside.  She strides quickly in front of them, leading them through a port door and into the hull of the carrier.  They climb up a set of steep stairs, Nat calling for them to watch their heads, and then they’re walking down a narrow hallway, towards what appears to be the command center of the carrier.  A massive room filled with computers and agents in tight blue uniforms.  The entire front wall is made of glass, and Steph can see the quickly retreating water as they move higher and higher.  There’s activity everywhere, people shouting and bustling about.  Steph feels a bit out of her depths, but she crams her hands into her pockets and just wonders at it all, taking everything in.

In the middle of the room is Nicole Fury, her black trenchcoat making an appearance again. 

“We’re at level, ma’am,” a brunette agent calls from below.

“Good,” Fury replies.  “Let’s vanish.”

“Engage retro-reflection panels!” the woman yells.

Dr. Banner is wandering around looking just as floored as Steph, so at least she knows she’s not alone.  Nat comes up besides Steph with a smirk.  Steph knows how she must looked awed, and she is.

“They just made the helicarrier invisible,” Nat explains under her breath.

Jesus.

“Ladies,” Fury calls, turning to stride over to them.  Steph pulls a wad of bills out of her pocket, numbly handing Fury a ten dollar bill before she wanders further into the command room.  Dr. Banner and Fury are talking behind Steph.  Steph continues to wander around the room until she notices Nat squatting down beside one of the computers, pulling up a file that has Clara’s face in the top left corner.

“Still not gonna find them in time,” Nat says, replying to a conversation Steph had been ignoring, glancing over at where Fury and Coulson are discussing accessing wireless cameras.

Steph wants to ask Nat where Clara is, but Fury is telling Nat to take Dr. Banner to the lab.  Steph circles back around to the entrance of the room, unsure if she should follow, but Fury calls for her.

“Glad you decided to come along,” Fury says as she comes up beside Steph.

“Yeah, well, sounded like some pretty heavy stuff is going on,” Steph replies.  “Who all have I got on my team?  Romanoff?  Barton?”

“That is…still being determined,” Fury says.

“That doesn’t sound promising.  Doesn’t this Loki character have the cube?”

“Director Fury!” the brunette calls before Fury can answer Steph’s question. 

“Agent Coulson will show you your new gear,” Fury says quickly before excusing herself.

Agent Coulson glances up, a hopeful and slightly manic look in his eyes.

Great.

 

***

 

“Captain Rogers,” Agent Coulson says, motioning to a small, bald man in a suit.  “This is Jasper Sitwell, one of our top intelligence officers.  His team is working on locating Loki as we speak.”

Steph reaches out to shake the man’s hand as he stands from his computer.

“Miss Rogers,” Sitwell says with a smile, “I’ve heard so much about you.  I was really hoping we’d get to meet today.”

“Pleasure,” Steph replies, withdrawing her hand from the man’s damp grip.  “Locating?  How are you doing that?”

“Oh just a simple series of algorithms cross referenced with radiation scanning and facial recognition technology.  Cameras are everywhere now, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.”  And Steph isn’t too terribly comfortable with that.

“You know I have a…friend who is a big fan of yours,” Sitwell states with a knowing smirk.

Steph nods before turning to leave.  She really isn’t in the mood for this conversation.

“Well, I’m sure you have a lot of work,” Steph mutters.

“And I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, Captain Rogers,” Sitwell calls after her, but she’s already walking away.  Unfortunately, Coulson is right on her heel.

“So, Agent Coulson, thank you for showing me my new gear, I really appreciate it.”  That’s the truth.  Because the new suit is actually quite bearable, even if it is a bit on the nose.  At least it’s not revealing.  “Is there anything I need to be doing right now?”

“No, ma’am, not at the moment.  I’m afraid that until we can locate Loki, we’re going to have to just be patient.”

Damn.

“You know, I have this…this set of trading cards.”

Double damn.

“I’ve heard,” Steph says, crossing her arms across her chest and going rigid.

“A complete set, actually.  Captain America trading cards.  I think you’d really like to see them.”

“I’ll sign them for you.”  No use dancing around the question.

“I mean,” Coulson sputters, “if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Steph replies.  Maybe once she signs them, Coulson will stop acting so weird around her.

“It’s a vintage set,” Coulson continues.  “Took me a couple years to collect them all.”

Steph really doesn’t want to talk about this.  So she trains her face and stares out the windows at the clouds. 

“Near mint.” 

This guy really doesn’t give up.

“Slight foxing around the edges.”

“We got a hit!” Sitwell calls, saving Steph.  “67% match.  Wait, cross match, 79%.”

Coulson marches quickly back over to Sitwell.  “Location?” he asks.

“Stuttgart, Germany.  28 Konigstrasse.  He’s not exactly hiding.”

“Captain,” Fury calls.  Steph turns.  “You’re up.”

Steph takes a deep breath and tries not to overanalyze the elated feeling of pure _relief_ that floods through her body.  She hadn’t realized how much anxiety waiting around had caused her.  She nods quickly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

So maybe the suit is a bit ostentatious.  Because it’s _really_ red, white and blue.  Steph isn’t even sure fabrics could be made in such bright colors back in her day.  She supposes that camouflage isn’t exactly necessary.  She won’t be hiding.  In fact, she’s taking the fight right to this Loki clown. 

This uniform has so many _layers_ though.  Nat, who saunters into the room dressed in a skin tight black cat-suit explains that the extra padding is bullet proof.  Steph decides that she’ll marvel at that later.  Because right now, she’s in game-mode.  Nat tells her that she’ll be flying the jet that’ll take them to Germany and that a troop carrier with backup will be taking off just after they do.

“They’re a bit slower though,” Nat says.  “So you’ll have to buy us some time.”

“Maybe I’ll just blind her with the bright colors of my outfit.”

Nat’s face moves, but Steph wouldn’t call it a smile.  She still wants to ask where Barton is, but in the next moment, Nat is using a code to open a metallic drawer. 

Her shield.

Steph moves slowly towards it.  Coulson had failed to show her this when he had brought her to her outfit earlier, too caught up in regaling his “design input.”  In fact, Steph hasn’t seen her shield since 1944.  She had thought it had been lost, hadn’t been recovered in the crash.  But apparently, SHIELD had just been keeping it from her.

“They made some modifications,” Nat answers Steph unasked question.  She has a knack for doing that.

Nat reaches out, pushing a button on Steph’s gauntlets.  There’s a faint whirring and suddenly the shield jumps into Steph’s arms.

“Magnetic?” Steph asks, a bit breathless.

“Something like that,” Nat smirks.  “So, Captain America, you ready to go kick some ass.”

Steph turns and looks at herself in the mirror.  She barely recognizes herself yet feels so comfortable.  The uniform, as showy as it is, is comforting.  Like a security blanket.  In it, Steph can let herself fall into the role.  All of her problems, all of the voices in her head that won’t let her sleep and the memories that haunt her during the day, they all go silent.  There is nothing but blissful simplicity in her thoughts.  Go to Germany.  Capture Loki.  Escort her back to the helicarrier and turn her over to SHIELD.  Nat would provide overhead support from the jet.  SHIELD would provide backup.  It was that simple.  It was all that Steph needed to do.

Steph can’t believe how nervous she had felt before, about putting on this uniform.  Because right now, she doesn’t have to be Stephanie Rogers: woman out of time, mourner of her lost love. 

Right now she is Captain America.  And that’s all she has to worry about.

“Let’s go.”

The Quinjet is fast, and the flight only takes about 45 minutes.  During that time, the brunette agent named Hill updates them with incoming information.  When they’re not getting feeds, Nat and Steph discuss a plan of action.  Loki is at a black tie affair in Germany.  Steph will be dropped near the back of the building and will move in on Loki.  Her weaponry is alien, so Steph will have to keep her distance.  She’ll start a distraction, get the civilians out and coral Loki towards the front of the building.  The SHIELD backup will move in from above with specialized weaponry.  Move Loki outside, stun her with the weaponry from the Quinjet, restrain her with the cuffs.  Get her on the jet. 

Just as they are making their decent, Hill calls to tell them that Loki has killed somebody.  And when they get on scene, Loki is standing outside in front of a crowd of kneeling civilians.  That gets Steph angry.

“What’s the play, Cap?” Nat asks.

Staph grabs her shield and runs towards the back of the jet, slamming a fist into the button to open the rear door. 

“Improvise,” she shouts before she jumps.

 

***

 

The laboratory is really quite spacious, one of the largest and nicest Jen’s ever been in.  The redhead who found her in India tells Jen that if there is anything else that she needs, all she has to do is ask. 

“A cup of coffee?” Jen asks weakly.

“A bit below my pay grade,” the Agent Romanoff replies slowly.  “But I’ll see what I can do.”

With that, Jen is left alone in the laboratory.  She spends about an hour getting acquainted with the lab because the sheer volume of equipment is a bit daunting.  There are machines that she’s never even seen before, and the lab is stuffed full with top of the line Stark Tech and Hammer gadgets.  When a nervous looking agent in a too-big blue uniform edges into the room with a cappuccino in hand, Jen almost asks him if there are instruction manuals sitting around.  But one look at the kid’s terrified eyes drops Jen’s stomach and she’s reminded that the biggest risk to the crew is her.  This agent probably wouldn’t know anything about the lab anyway, because he looks to be about 19 and his shirt says “Navigation.”

Jen throws herself into her work and feels all of her anxiety melting away.  She hadn’t been overly thrilled when they took her to an aircraft carrier, even less so when they thing started to fly.  It just felt like all the wrong triggers and none of the stress relievers she needed.  But her work was the biggest stress reliever of all, and to be honest she was a bit giddy at the prospect of diving into it.  Because when she had finally cut all of her ties and gone into the wind, she had been certain that she would never see a proper laboratory again.  The temptation to ask if she could stay on after this mission and continue her work was strong, but Jen had to remind herself that Thunderbolt was Secretary of State now and he might have a few choice words about a government agency brining Jen back onto US soil.  Jen just had to keep her head down, do her work and then jump ship once she located the Tesseract. 

It didn’t slip Jen’s attention when Captain America and Black Widow went running by the window of the lab in uniform, along with about ten other fully armored agents.  But Jen told herself that it didn’t concern her, she had one job only: track the gamma radiation to locate the cube.  She didn’t need to concern herself with anything else, least of all something that just thinking about made her heart rate spike.  Stay calm.  Do her work.  Keep her head down.

A few hours later, Jen has her algorithm fully functional, and displays of radiation sweeps blink on every screen.  Jen has lost track of the time, but she’s alright with that.  She’s fine with losing herself in her work.  What she isn’t fine with is sitting in the lab doing nothing once her work was done.  Because there’s another commotion going on outside and it takes everything Jen has to stay in her seat and keep her eyes on her screen.

But then, when Jen’s checking the calibration on the flux gamma housing unit, a group of guards walk by with a prisoner in tow.  Jen can’t help but watch, tugging her glasses from her face as they stride by.  The woman has long black hair and milky skin.  As they go by the lab, the prisoner turns and meets Jen’s eyes, a knowing smirk on her thin lips.

It makes Jen go cold.

Because Jen has seen that crazed look on the face of Thaddeus Ross before.  And it doesn’t mean anything good.

The woman starts to laugh, as if she knows that she’s gotten to Jen.  She cranes her neck as they round the corner so she can keep her eyes trained on Jen as Jen pinches the bridge of her nose and tries to tune the woman out.  Jen keeps her eyes squeezed shut, counting her breathing until she feels safe enough to open her eyes and confirm that the woman is gone.

Focus on the work.  Don’t get stressed.  Find the cube.  Scatter to the wind. 

That plan goes to shit when Agent Romanoff stalks into the lab with an ethereal looking staff in hand.  She says that they caught Loki, asks how the search is going and doesn’t wait for an answer before telling Jen that she’s needed in the command point.

The command point is definitely not empty when Jen gets there.  Captain Rogers is looking a little worse for wear, wearing her signature, colorful leotard, and in tow she’s got the woman that Jen knows in Thor, a sour look pinching her face.  Jen scurries to the furthest corner of the room, putting her back to the wall and trying hard to stay out of it.  Nobody is saying much, which is good.  But then Romanoff promptly pulls up a live camera feed showing what Jen immediately knows is the nuclear option built for her.  Jen tries not to watch, crosses her arms tight across her chest, tries to read data on the tablet she’s brought with her.  But the strange woman’s honey soaked voice comes pouring over the speaker and Jen can’t stop herself from listening.

“An impressive cage,” Loki drawls.  “But not built, I think, for me.”

Fury’s voice is muffled as it responds.

“Oh I’ve heard,” Loki replies.  “A mindless _beast_.”

Agent Romanoff glances up at Jen from across the room.  Jen furrows her brow, pretends not to hear it, but she can’t stop listening now.

“Makes play, she’s still a man,” Loki continues.  “How _desperate_ are you?  You call on such lost creatures to defend you.” 

The heart rate monitor on Jen’s wrist begins to beep in a warning.  Jen huffs, stalks across the room.  Loki’s voice is still pouring through the speaker.  Jen is about to snap at Romanoff to turn it off, but she takes a steadying breath.  She can handle this.  It’s alright.  She can handle some mild mannered jabs.  It’s no secret what Jen is.  By the time the speech is over, Rogers has sat down at one of the screens, lines of worry on her face.  Jen is feeling better, so she comes up behind Rogers and takes a glance at the screen, where Loki is standing with her arms at her side, staring at the camera in a dare.

“She really grows on you, doesn’t she,” Jen says lightly, breaking the silence of the room.

“Loki’s gonna drag this out,” Rogers responds, eyes still on the feed.  “Thor, what’s her play?”

Thor stares off at nothing before responding in a dramatically low voice, it almost makes Jen want to laugh.

“She’s got an army, called the Chitauri.”  Thor turns to regard Rogers.  “They’re not of Asgard nor any world known.  She means to lead them against your people.  They will win her the Earth, in return, I suspect, for the Tesseract.”

 _Great_ , Jen wants to say.  She wants to throw her arms up and ask to be dropped off the helicarrier right now. 

“An army?” Rogers says, echoing Jen’s sentiments.  “From outer space.”

“So she’s building another portal,” Jen offers.  Rogers turns to look at her as if that conclusion wasn’t crystal clear.  Jen pulls the glasses off her face.  “That’s what she needs Eric Selvig for.”  Romanoff had told Jen that Selvig had gone missing with the Tesseract when she had brought her to the lab earlier.

“Selvig?” Thor asks.

“He’s an astrophysicist,” Jen explains.

“He’s a _friend_ ,” Thor snaps.

Jeez, okay calm down.

“Loki has him under some kind of spell,” Romanoff tells Thor.  “Along with one of ours.”  Romanoff drops her eyes, shifting uncomfortably. 

Rogers is glancing at Romanoff suddenly, brow furrowed in worry, but Romanoff avoids her gaze.

“I want to know why Loki let us take her,” Rogers says, looking back at Thor.  “She’s not leading an army from here,” Rogers points out.

“I don’t think we should be focusing on Loki,” Jen interrupts.  Seriously, the girl is purposefully baiting Jen.  It doesn’t take that much brain power to figure out why.  “Her brain’s a bag full of cats.  You could smell crazy on her.”

“Have care how you speak,” Thor warns.  “Loki’s beyond reason, but she is of Asgard.  And she is my _sister_.”

“She killed 80 people in two days,” Romanoff points out.

Thor shifts her weight.  “She’s adopted,” she offers as an excuse.

“I think it’s about the mechanics,” Jen says, trying to get the conversation back onto what’s important.  “Iridium, what do they need iridium for?”  That had been what stumped Jen the most.

At that moment, none other than Toni Stark comes striding into the room like she owns the place.

“It’s a stabilizing agent,” Toni says, as if it was obvious.  Toni turns, having a quick conversation under her breath with the agent named Coulson.  Jen narrows her eyes as Toni stuffs her hands into her pockets and strolls further into the room.  “It means the portal won’t collapse on itself like it did at SHIELD.”  Toni continues walking through the room, patting Thor on the shoulder.  “No hard feelings, Point Break, you’ve got a mean swing.”  Thor turns, looking outraged and like she’s about to speak, but Toni is on a roll.  “ _Also_ , it means the portal can open as wide and stay open as long as Loki wants.”

Toni strides to the commanders post, waving vaguely at the crew down below.

“Uh, raise the mizzenmast,” Toni calls sarcastically.  “Jib the topsails.”  The crew turn to look at Toni.  “That man is play Galaga!” Toni cries, pointing an accusatory finger at one of the crew.  “He thought we wouldn’t notice, but we did.”  Rogers is looking around, an annoyed look on her face, as if asking who’s going to stop this flashy little show.  Toni puts a hand over her eye, regarding the screens in front of her critically for a moment.  “How does Fury even see these?” she asks.

“She turns,” the agent named Hill replies in a bored tone.

“Sounds exhausting,” Toni says, turning back around to look at the others again.  “The rest of the raw materials, Agent Barton can get her hands on pretty easily.”  Jen looks around for an explanation for that statement, but the rest are no help.  Rogers looks shocked and confused.  Romanoff has lowered her eyes again.  And Thor is just as stony and righteous as ever.  Toni goes back to toying with the consoles.  “The only major component she still needs is a power source of high energy density.  Something to kick start the Cube.”  Toni turns back, fidgeting with her hands.

“When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?” Hill asks.

“Last night,” Toni replies briskly.  “The packet, Selvig’s notes, the extraction theory papers,” Toni lists, throwing her hands up.  “Am I the only one who did the reading?”

Jen’s been quiet, because since Toni strode into the room and kick started her thought process, she’s been reconsidering her original mock ups.  She bends over her tablet, rereading her notes quickly, scribbling in changes where they’re necessary.

“Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?” Rogers asks, obviously out of her depths.  Jen wants to laugh.

“She would have to heat the cube to 120-million Kelvin,” Jen points out, rechecking her calculations, “just to break through the Coulomb barrier.”

Stark throws her hands up appreciatively. 

“ _Unless_ , Selvig has figured out to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect,” Toni replies, striding towards the table.

“Well, if he could do that he could achieve heavy ion fusion at any reactor of the planet,” Jen scoffs.

Toni regards Jen, tipping her head with a small grin.  “Finally,” Toni says, “someone who speaks English.”

“Is that what just happened?” Jen asks. 

Toni extends her hand.  Jen takes it.  Toni’s grip is bruising.

“It’s good to meet you Dr. Banner,” Stark says.  “Your work on antielectron collisions is unprecedented.”  Jen releases Toni’s hand, grinning a bit as she drops her gaze to her floor, flattered and star-struck.  “And I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.”

It’s true what they say, never meet your heroes.

Jen glances up at Stark, screwing up her face.  “Thanks,” Jen replies, voice flat.

Luckily, Jen is saved as Director Fury comes walking into the room.  “Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube,” Fury announces forcefully.  Thank god.  “I was hoping you might join her,” Fury tells Stark.

“I would start with this stick of hers,” Rogers says.  Jen wants to roll her eyes, because duh.  The thing was putting out enormous amounts of radiation _and_ supposedly has the power to control minds.  Of course Jen is going to start there.  “It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a Hydra weapon.”  Jen chews her lips and wonders offhandedly if Rogers understands how much _science_ went into turning her into Captain America, if she really appreciates the feat that it was.  There’s no such thing as magic, as much as Jen wishes otherwise.  It makes Jen the tiniest amount of bitter, but she lets it roll off her shoulder.

“I don’t know about that,” Fury says.  “But it is powered by the cube.  And I’d like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest people I know into her personal flying monkeys.”

“Monkeys?” Thor asks.  “I do not understand.”

“I do!” Rogers cries.  Everyone turns to look at her, and her ears turn red.  “I understood that reference.”

Toni rolls her eyes, turning to look at Jen.

“Shall we play, Doctor?” Toni asks.

Jen lifts her arm to indicate the hall.  “This way, ma’am.”

Jen shows Stark to the lab.  Toni strides in and is clearly not as impressed with it as Jen was.  She begins wandering around, glancing at all of the screens, shooting Jen with questions every few seconds.  Jen answers them off the top of her head while she digs out the gamma reader.  The staff had been placed on a special housing unit that had been designed for the cube.  Jen pulls the cord with her so she can wave the reader over the staff.  Squinting at the readings, she calls out to Toni.

“The gamma readings are definitely consistent with Selvig’s reports of the Tesseract.”  Jen looks up at the computer.  “But it’s gonna take weeks to process.”

“If we bypass their mainframe and direct route to the Homer cluster, we can clock this at around 600 teraflops,” Stark responds from a computer across the room.

“All I packed was a toothbrush,” Jen muses. 

Toni laughs at Jen’s joke, skirting around the desk to walk towards her.  “You know, you should really come by Stark Tower sometime.  Top ten floors, all R&D.  You’d love it, it’s CandyLand.”

God, Jen wants to say yes to that.  She wants to scream it.  She wants to tell Toni that that is a dream come true, that it’s all she’s ever wanted.  But Jen knows better.  She’s still a wanted fugitive, hanging out in New York City isn’t exactly inconspicuous.

“Thanks,” Jen says, not looking up from the tablet in her hands.  “But last time I was in New York, I kinda…broke…Harlem.”

“Well, I promise a stress-free environment,” Toni says, coming to rest next to where Jen is leaned over the computer, processing the readings.  “No tension, no surprises.”

Toni moots her point by poking Jen in the side with an electronic micro-welder.  Jen jumps at the pain.

“Ow!” she snaps, whipping her face up to look at Toni.  Toni leans in to look into Jen’s eyes.

“Hey!” Rogers shouts from the doorway.

“Nothing?” Toni asks, honestly bemused.

“Are you nuts?” Rogers barks, running into the lab.

“Jury’s out,” Toni replies.

Jen can’t help but smile a bit, turning back to her work.

“You really have got a lid on it.  What’s your secret?  Mellow jazz, bongo drums, huge bag of weed?” Toni asks with a small smile.

“Is everything a joke to you?” Rogers cries.  Jen glances up at Rogers.  She’s still in her uniform, a genuine look of annoyance on her face.  Suddenly, Jen is grateful for all the mindful breathing exercises she’s mastered because if she was as riled up by Toni’s teasing as Rogers seems to be, everyone on board would be in danger.

Toni frowns as if she’s considering the question, before pointing at Rogers with a welder.  “Funny things are,” Toni replies.

“Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn’t funny,” Rogers retorts.

Ouch.  Jen might have been thinking exactly that just moments ago, but hearing it on Rogers’ lips kinda hurts. 

“No offense, Doc,” Rogers adds.

“It’s alright.  I wouldn’t have come aboard if I couldn’t handle pointy things,” Jen says, glancing over at Stark who’s looking at Rogers with a manic gleam in her eyes.  But whatever Toni was about to say to Rogers, she holds because she turns to point at Jen.

“You’re tiptoeing, big girl, you need to strut,” Toni proclaims.

Jen wants to laugh.  She can’t decide if she likes Toni or not.  She can appreciate a sardonic and, frankly, morbid sense of humor.  And she can definitely appreciate the way Stark knows to push everyone’s buttons.  Hell, Jen misses the days when she could do the same.  She was hardly mild-mannered in her youth.  She wouldn’t have gotten very far if she had been.  In fact, Jen had been a lot like Stark.  It’s just that Stark has never had anything happen to her that took her down a peg, the way that Jen had.

Jen wants to pick Toni’s mind, wants to take her up on her offer to come to Stark Tower, wants to continue down this path with Stark.  But she knows she can’t.  She knows that the warm fuzzy feeling that had started spreading through her when they had walked into the lab can’t be chased.  Because Jen recognizes that feeling, it was the same feeling she had had for Betty when they had met.  Betty was wonderful, and she was beautiful and amazing, but most of all she was intelligent.  And it was her _mind_ that Jen had fallen for.  Hell, before Betty, Jen hadn’t even thought of herself as queer. 

If there was one thing good that came out of this whole mess, it’s that Jen knows herself now.  Knows her triggers, knows when to be cautious.  And she knows to be cautious now.  Because Stark is one of the smartest people Jen has ever met, and that circle had previously only held two people. 

“And you need to focus on the problem, Ms. Stark,” Rogers snaps, bringing Jen’s attention back to the present conversation.

“Do you think I’m not?” Toni dares.  Jen turns and can recognize the look on Toni’s face.  She’s seen it before in the mirror.  “Why did Fury call us in?  Why now?  Why not before?  What isn’t she telling us?  I can’t do the equation unless I have all the variables.”

“You think Fury’s hiding something?” Rogers asks, interest obviously piqued.

“She’s a spy.  Captain, she’s _the_ spy.  Her secrets have secrets.”

Jen keeps her head down, reading the numbers on the screen.

“It’s bugging her too, isn’t it?” Toni asks, turning to point at Jen.

“Uh…” Jen replies dumbly.  She awkwardly waves her hands to indicate the computer.  “I just want to finish my work here and-“

“Doctor?” Rogers says.

Jen sighs, glancing up to where Rogers is staring at her with suspicion.  Jen chews on her cheek for a moment before tugging her glasses off again.

“’A warm light for all mankind,’” Jen quotes.  Even when she was trying not to pay attention, she had soaked up Loki’s grand standing.  “Loki’s jab at Fury about the cube.”

“I heard it,” Rogers replies.

“Well I think that was meant for you,” Jen says, turning to look at Toni.  Toni hadn’t been in the room for the speech, but Jen doubts that Toni hadn’t heard it.  Fury may be _the_ spy, but Stark is _the_ genius. 

As a reply, Toni holds out an open bag of blueberries.  Jen frowns but takes the offered gift anyway before continuing.

“Even if Barton didn’t tell Loki about the tower, it was still all over the news.”  “Who’s Barton” had been the first question Jen had asked Toni once they were alone.  And Jen had been on the helicarrier long enough to soak up the information.  While her algorithm was processing, she had caught herself up on current events.

“The Stark Tower?” Rogers asks.  “That big, ugly…” Toni turns to shoot Rogers a deadly look.  “…building in New York?”

“It’s powered by an arc reactor,” Jen continues.  “A self-sustaining energy source.  That building will run itself for what?  A year?”

“It’s just a prototype,” Toni defends.  “I’m kinda the only name in clean energy right now,” Toni tells Rogers.  “That’s what she’s getting at.”

“So…why didn’t SHIELD bring her in on the Tesseract project,” Jen finally reaches the conclusion of Toni’s argument, looking up at Rogers.  “What are they doing in the energy business in the first place?”

“I should probably look into that,” Toni says, scooping up a tablet.  “Once my decryption program finishes breaking into all of SHIELD’s secure files.”

“I’m sorry, did you say-“ Rogers begins, but is interrupted.

“JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge,” Toni says, coming to a stop in front of Rogers.  “In a few hours, I’ll know every dirty secret SHIELD has every tried to hide.  Blueberry?”  Toni holds the bag up to Rogers, who glances at it like it has personally offended her.

Jen wants to laugh again.  Stark is really growing on her.  Rogers, for her part, has shifted her attention away from the randomly offered snack and back onto Stark.

“Yet you’re confused about why they didn’t want you around,” Rogers levels, glaring at Stark.

“An intelligence organization that _fears_ intelligence,” Toni responds, withdrawing her offering.  “Historically, not awesome.”

Rogers rolls her eyes, glancing at Jen as if asking for backup.  Jen just shrugs, pretending to go back to her work, but she’s invested now.

“I think Loki is trying to wind us up,” Rogers announces, as if she’s the first one to realize it.  “This is a woman who means to start a war.  If we don’t stay focused, she’ll succeed.”

Jen really wants to point out that Rogers was the one who came in here and interrupted them, not the other way around.

“We have orders,” Rogers continues.  “We should follow them.”

“Followings not really my style,” Toni replies, throwing a handful of blueberries into her mouth.

Rogers huffs, rolling her eyes.

“And you’re all about style, aren’t you,” Rogers growls, voice low, threatening, annoyed.

“Of the people in this room, which one is, A: wearing a spangly outfit and. B: not of use,” Toni retorts.

At least Toni said it.  Jen is really getting sick of the semantics.

“Steph, tell me none of this smells a little…funky to you,” Jen says.

Rogers looks back and forth between Toni and Jen.  Realizing she’s outnumbered and has lost this round with Toni (which Jen assumes will be the first of many), she huffs and turns towards the door.

“Just find the cube,” Rogers commands as she strides out of the lab.

Toni steps back, watching Rogers leave.  “Hate to see her go, love to watch her leave,” Toni says under her breath, but Jen definitely hears it.  Jen hadn’t really thought about it before but she supposed that, objectively, Rogers is an attractive person.  Not that Jen really ever thinks about those things.  Toni turns to Jen.  “That’s the girl my dad never shut up about?” Toni cries once the door slides shut.  “I’m wondering if they should have kept her on ice.”

“Huh,” Jen laughs, musing.  “She’s not wrong about Loki,” she points out as she moves across the room to check the location grids.  “She does have the jump on us.”

“What she’s got is an Acme dynamite kit,” Toni replies, approaching Jen.  “It’s gonna blow up in her face.  And, I’m gonna be there when it does.”  Toni rounds to another computer.

“Yeah?” Jen asks, sparing a glance over.  “I’ll read all about it.”

Because she really does have to keep all of that in mind.  Find the cube.  Go back into hiding.  She can’t let herself get caught up or distracted. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Toni replies.  “Or you’ll be suiting up with the rest of us.”

Jen chuckles under her breath.  Yeah right.

“Yeah, you see, I don’t get a suit of armor,” Jen points out, eyes going back to the screen.  “I’m exposed, like a nerve…it’s a nightmare.”

“You know,” Toni says, “I’ve got a cluster of shrapnel trying every second to crawl its way into my heart.”

Jen’s about to offer to help Toni with that.  It would be pretty simple.  Jen _is_ a doctor, one of the best actually.  But she keeps her mouth shut.  No encumbrances, not matter how much she desperately wants to follow Stark anywhere she’s willing to take Jen.

“This stops it,” Toni continues.  Jen glances over to watch Toni brush her fingers along the circular, blue glow beneath her shirt.  “This little circle of light, it’s part of me now.”

Jen wants to point out that having an arc reactor in your chest is absolutely nothing like turning into a killing machine when you get angry.  But Toni is approaching her now, and Jen only watches as she comes around the other side of the screen.

“Not just armor,” Toni finishes.  She pauses and Jen watches something flit across her face, a memory.  Jen can see it in her eyes.  It takes everything Jen has not to reach out, not to plead with Toni to tell her her story.  Jen so badly wants a friend, _needs_ a friend.  But she can’t.  It would put Toni in danger, it would put a lot of people in danger.  So Jen keeps her mouth shut.  “It’s a terrible privilege,” Toni finally says, meeting Jen’s eyes through the transparent screen.

“But _you_ can control it,” Jen can’t help but point out. 

“Because I learned how,” Toni replies.

“It’s different.”  Jen shakes her head, breaking eye contact.  She can’t have this conversation, she can’t.  So instead, she glances up at the gamma level reader at the top of the screen, reaching up to enlarge it.  But Toni beats her to it, pushing the button on the lower corner, clearing the screen so that all that’s left between them in clear glass.  Jen has nowhere to hide.

“Hey, I read all about your accident,” Toni says.  Jen scoffs.  “That much gamma exposure should have _killed_ you.” 

 _I wish it had_ , Jen thinks bitterly, but she doesn’t say it.

“So you’re saying that the…Hulk…” Jen hates that name so so much.  “…the other guy, saved my life?  That’s nice.  It’s a nice sentiment,” Jen scoffs bitterly.  She looks down, she doesn’t like where this conversation is leading but she can’t stop herself.  “Saved it for what?” Jen challenges.

When Jen glances back up, Toni is staring, brown eyes going dark as she regards Jen.  It makes Jen feel a bit uncomfortable, but Jen can’t look away.  The moment seems to stretch on forever, but it must only be a few seconds.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Toni finally says, voice low.

With that, Toni steps away.

“You may not enjoy that,” Jen calls after her.

“And you just might,” Toni replies casually.

A companionable silence falls between them.  Toni is already onto the next thing, occasionally calling out readings from around the room.  Jen chews her cheek and counts her breathing.  It’s not that she’s afraid she might turn.  No, it’s not that.  It’s that, suddenly, her anxiety is spiked.  Suddenly, she’s trapped in her own head, one particular memory playing on a loop. 

So Jen does the only thing she knows to do, throws herself into her work.  Tunes out everything, even Toni.  Every time Toni passes by her or asks her a question, Jen tries to respond as little as possible.  She can’t think about Toni right now.  She can’t consider everything that Toni just said.  She can’t read into it.  She can’t have friends.  Because her friends always end up hurt.  Her friends usually end up dead.  It had taken everything in Jen’s power not to look up Betty when she had gotten into the lab.  She wanted so badly to know how Betty was, what she was doing now that she didn’t have Jen ruining her life.  But Jen knew herself, and she knew that looking up Betty would probably mean finding out where she works now.  And if she finds where she works, she’ll probably find a phone number.  And if Jen finds a phone number, she won’t be able to stop herself from calling.

Toni’s been a nice distraction, but Jen needs to keep her head straight.  Do her job.  Go back into hiding.  Find the cube.  Forget this ever happened.

Jen can’t help the longing glace she shoots at Toni when that thought crosses through her mind. 

No.  Toni Stark is… _Toni Stark_.  She’s untouchable, the genius that shaped the century.  And what is Jen?  A failed scientist.  A failed science _experiment_.  A killing machine.  Jen is nothing, a nobody.  She should be honored to be in the same room as Stark, breathing the same air, not lusting after her like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Shit.  Is that what this is?  Jen grinds her teeth and tries to concentrate on her work, but she can’t.  Because now her mind is going down a different path.  Now she can’t help but glance at Toni across the room, smile a little when Toni catches her eye.  Toni is lovely, Jen can acknowledge that the same way she did with Rogers.  But Toni is so, _so_ much more than that. 

Jen’s just star-struck.  That’s all this is.  At least, that’s her story and she’s sticking to it.  Once she’s back in hiding, she’ll look back on this and realize how foolish it had been.  She’s a _scientist_ , for God’s sake.  She’s here, in this amazing lab, with the smartest person on the planet, trying to save the world.  Be grateful for the little things.

Do her job.  Find the cube.  Then she’s gone.


	5. Amazons Assemble: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Two chapters in one day! Hooray for insomnia. Also, I actually might have wanted to get canon out of the way so I can go back to my own, filthy headcanons, and putting those down on paper. So, I hope you enjoy!

Steph is infuriated.  She storms through the halls, scaring more than one agent when she demands, “ _Where’s Fury?!_ ”  Most people just skitter away, but finally Steph finds Hill.

“Where’s Director Fury?!” Steph almost shouts.

Hill’s eyes fall on the weapon in Steph’s hands. 

“Captain Rogers,” Hill says, voice low.  “What are you doing with that?”

“The more important question is what is Fury doing with it!” Steph snaps.  “Tell me where she is, _now_!”

Hill doesn’t flinch, but she does read Steph’s eyes.  Steph can only imagine what is reflected there.

Because Steph _died_ in an attempt to rid the world of these kinds of weapons.  It makes her go numb to find them aboard the very helicarrier she’s currently on.  But Steph is back now, and she can ensure these weapons stay out of the wrong hands forever.  Bucky, however.

Bucky is gone, killed on board the train carrying this exact weaponry.  And Bucky’s not coming back, Bucky doesn’t get a second chance, Bucky isn’t around to make sure the world doesn’t make the same stupid mistakes once again.  So that job falls on Steph.

Maybe Hill can see that in Steph’s eyes.  Maybe Hill knows.  Because in the next moment she drops her gaze.

“She just went to see Stark in the lab,” Hill says.

Steph turns on her heel, practically running towards the lab.  Stark.  Stark’s been pushing Steph’s buttons since she showed up playing rock music in Germany.  Steph’s had almost all she can handle.  The rage that is making her see red is almost blinding.  Steph doesn’t know where it’s coming from, she’s usually a little more even keeled, but at the moment she blames Stark.  Stark and Fury.  Because Fury lied to her, used her, all while keeping the thing she died to destroy in the storage of the helicarrier. 

“What _is_ Phase II?” Steph hears Stark ask as she turns into the lab.

Steph throws the weapon down on the table, a look of disgust on her face when Fury turns.

“Phase II is SHIELD uses the cube to make weapons,” Steph announces as all eyes turn to her.  “Sorry, the computer was moving a little slow for me.”

Fury sighs, an annoyed look on her face as she turns towards Steph.  “Rogers, we gathered everything related to the Tesseract.  This does not mean that we’re-“

“I’m sorry, Nick!” Toni shouts, interrupting Fury.  She spins one of the screens about to face them.  On it are what Steph assumes are designs for the exact weapon system she’s just thrown on the table.  “What were you lying?”

Steph turns her gaze back to Fury who is standing in front of her rigidly.

“I was wrong, Director,” Steph spits.  “The world hasn’t changed a bit.”  And that fact is so painful, it makes Steph want to lash out.

Attracted by the shouting, Thor and Romanoff come striding into the room at that moment.  Banner throws an infuriated look at Romanoff that Steph doesn’t want to dissect right now.

“Did you know about this?” Banner asks Romanoff.

Nat takes a cautious step forward.  “You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, Doctor?” she says carefully.  Banner laughs.

“I was in Calcutta,” Banner says.  “I was pretty well removed.”

Nat takes another step forward, chin down.  “Loki is manipulating you,” she tells Banner.

“And you’ve been doing what, exactly?” Banner retorts.

“You didn’t come here because I bat my eyelashes at you,” Nat responds, coming to a halt with a table between them. 

“Yes, and I’m not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy,” Banner growls, closing the distance between them.

Steph doesn’t like where this conversation is headed.  She suddenly regrets not bringing her shield.  Banner grabs the screen, jabbing a pen at it.

“I’d like to know why SHIELD is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction,” Banner demands.

“Because of her,” Fury says, pointing a finger at where Thor is standing silently, observing the exchange.

Thor raises her eyebrows, confused.  “Me?” Thor asks.  The faces around the room reflect that surprise.

“Last year, Earth had a visitor from another planet,” Fury explains, “who had a grudge match that leveled a small town.  We learned that not only are we not alone, but we are hopelessly— _hilariously_ out gunned.”

“My people want nothing but peace with your planet,” Thor defends, shifting uncomfortably. 

“But you’re not the only people out there, are you?” Fury retorts, turning abruptly to approach Thor.  “And you’re not the only threat.”  She turns back to face the rest of them, hands out.  “The world is filling up with people who cannot be matched, that can’t be controlled.”

Steph throws a glance at Stark, but for her part, Stark is already looking offended enough, crossing her arms tighter and glaring even harder.  Despite her dislike for Stark, Steph doesn’t like where that line of logic leads.  Wanting to control people, holding a gun to their heads to do it, sounds an awful lot like the people she was fighting in World War 2.

“Like you controlled the cube?” Steph accuses.

“Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it, and her allies,” Thor snaps.  “It is a signal to all the realms that the Earth is ready for a higher form of war.”

“A high form?” Steph asks.  But Fury is talking over her.

“You forced our hand,” Fury says to Thor.  “We had to do something.”

“A nuclear deterrent?” Stark speaks up.  “Because that always calms everything right down.”

Fury scoffs.

“Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark,” Fury retorts.

“I’m sure if she still made weapons, she would be neck deep-“ Steph begins, stepping forward, an accusation in her eyes. 

“Wait wait, hold on,” Stark interrupts, throwing a hand up defensively.  “How is this now about me?”

“I’m sorry,” Steph taunts, “isn’t everything?”

“I thought humans were more evolved than this,” Thor laughs.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Fury says, turning to face Thor.  “Did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?”

“You treat your champions with such mistrust!” Thor replies, taking a step forward, throwing her hands up.

“They’re not _my_ champions,” Fury cries.

“Are you ladies really this naïve?” Nat says in disbelief, joining the conversation.  “SHIELD monitors potential threats.”

“Captain America is on the threat watch?” Banner asks.

“We all are,” Nat responds.

“Wait, you’re on the list?” Stark says to Steph.  “Are you above or below angry bees?”

Steph grabs the bridge of her nose.  “Stark, so help me God, if you make one more wisecrack-“

“Threat!” Stark shouts.  “Verbal threat, I feel threatened!” she points a finger at Steph.

Steph can’t help herself from hitting the finger out of her face.  “Show some respect!” she spits.

“Respect what?” Stark laughs. 

“If I need to put you down, then I will,” Steph warns.

“ _Ha_!” Stark cries.  “I’d like to see you try, old-timer.  You must be forgetting that I was the one who saved _your_ ass in Germany!”

“After I had already done all the hard work!”

The room is descending into chaos, everyone arguing, trying to talk over one another.  From the corner, Thor begins to laugh.

“You speak of control, yet you court chaos,” she states, crossing her arms as if she’s above it all.

“That’s Fury’s M.O., isn’t it?” Banner replies, leveling Fury with a uncompromising look.  “I mean, what are we, a team?  No, no, no we’re a chemical mixture that makes _chaos_.  We’re a time bomb.”

“ _You_ need to step away,” Fury says, voice low.

“Why shouldn’t she blow off a little steam?!” Stark cries, throwing up her hands.  Steph had just about enough.  When Stark’s hand falls on Steph’s shoulder, she reaches her limit.

“You know damn well why!” Steph shouts, shoving Stark’s hand off of her shoulder.  “Back off!”

“Ohhhh,” Stark says, eyes going narrow.  “I’m starting to want you to make me.”

“Yeah,” Steph says sarcastically.  “Big girl in a suit of armor.”  Her words are laced with toxins, she’s starting to hope Stark makes a move because the urge to punch her in her face is becoming overwhelming.  “Take that off, what are you?”

“Genius, billionaire, playgirl, philanthropist,” Stark lists without looking at Steph, a bemused look on her face.  Across the room, Steph sees Nat shrug.

“I know people with none of that worth ten of you,” Steph spits.  “I’ve seen the footage.  The only thing you fight for is _yourself_.”  Steph’s on role now, she can see that she’s getting to Stark.  Stark drops her challenging gaze, her face falling a bit.  “You’re not the one to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other people crawl over you.”  Stark’s face contorts again, the spark back in her eyes.

“I think I would just _cut_ the wire,” she responds smugly.

Steph chuckles, looking around the room.  All eyes are on them.

“Always a way out,” Steph says, voice low, looking Stark up and down.  “You know, you may not be a threat but you’d better _stop_ pretending to be a hero.”  It’s cruel and it’s cutting, but Steph doesn’t care.  She wants Stark gone, out of the way.  Is this who Fury really thought would replace Bucky?  This self-absorbed trouble making piece of work?  Steph wants to laugh at the absurdity of that proposition.  Stark doesn’t even _begin_ to hold a candle to Bucky.

“A hero?  Like you?” Stark retorts.  “You’re a _laboratory experiment_ , Rogers.  Everything special about you, came out of a _bottle_.”  Stark takes a step closer, a challenge in her eyes.

Steph nods, a smirk on her lips. 

“Put on the suit,” Steph dares.  “Let’s go a few rounds.”

Behind her, Thor begins to laugh again.  “You people are so petty.  And _tiny_.”

Stark dry washes her face while from the other end of the room, Banner is laughing too.

“Yeah,” Banner calls.  “ _This_ is a team.”

“Agent Romanoff,” Fury barks.  “Would you escort Dr. Banner back to her-“

“Where?” Banner demands.  “You rented my room!”

Fury throws up her hands defensively.  “The cell was just in case-“

“In case you needed to _kill me_ ,” Banner finishes for her.  “But you can’t, I know, I tried,” she spits bitterly.  Steph cringes, turning to regard Banner.  Banner doesn’t seem phased.  She shifts, suddenly noticing the shock on the faces around her.  She shakes her head, dropping her gaze.  “I got low,” she explains.  “Didn’t see an end.  So I put a _bullet_ in my mouth and the other guy spit it out.”  Banner shifts her weight before launching in again, newly infuriated.  “So I moved on.  I focused on helping other people.  I was _good_.  Until you dragged me back into this _freak show_ and put everyone here at risk.”  Anger flashes in Banner’s eyes.  She bends down, scooping up the staff.  Steph goes rigid and she’s not alone.  All around her, everyone has started, fingers twitching for weapons as Banner continues sardonically.  “You wanna know my _secret_ , Agent Romanoff?”  Banner sounds crazed.  “ _You wanna know how I stay calm?_ ”

“Dr. Banner,” Steph interrupts, eyes going from the staff to Banner’s face.  Banner’s eyes flit over to her.  “Put down the scepter.”  Banner’s face loses color as she glances down at her hand in shock as if she hadn’t even realized that she had picked it up.  She looks confused, tossing the staff back onto the table like live dynamite.  The attention is the room is pulled as an alarm goes off in the corner.  Everyone turns.

“Sorry kids,” Banner says bitterly, walking towards the alert screen.  “You don’t get to see my party trick after all.” 

“You located the Tesseract?” Thor asks.

“I could get there fastest,” Stark volunteers.  Steph rolls her eyes, annoyance renewed.

“All of us-“ Steph begins, but Thor beats her to it.

“The Tesseract belongs on Asgard, no human is a match for it.”

Stark is turning, Steph throws out her hand to halt her.

“You’re not going alone,” Steph snaps at Stark.

“You gonna stop me?” Stark challenges, slapping away Steph’s hand.

“Put of the suit!” Steph demands again.  “Let’s find out.”  Stark turns and steps right up into Steph’s face.

“I’m not afraid to hit an old lady,” Stark spits.

“Put on the suit,” Steph repeats.

At that moment, an explosion rocks the helicarrier.  Fire shoots through the center of the lab, blowing out windows and causing the floor to collapse.  Steph is thrown against the doorway, Stark landing hard against her.  The helicarrier tips dangerously and the lights go out, leaving everything bathed in red, emergency lighting.  Steph recovers, pushing herself up from under the debris.  The shocked face of Stark is looking back at her.

“Put on the suit!” Steph gasps.

“Yeah,” Stark agrees breathlessly.

 

***

 

Nicole stares down at the trading cards in her hands.  She had been a soldier for a long time, a spy even longer.  She had lost her fair share of men in battle before.  But that didn’t ever stop the sting, the hurt, the little bit of her soul that fractured off and was carried with them when they passed.

The anger over the Hydra weapons, Nicole can understand, truly she can.  She hadn’t been too keen on the idea herself.  But Pierce and the WSC had insisted on it with the Project Insight program.  Nicole may be director of SHIELD, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have to follow orders anymore.  There will always be somebody above you, somebody who gives you orders and who you answer to.  Learning to deal with that, when to obey and when to circumvent, was all part of playing the game, being in the business. 

Because, all along, Nicole had had a riskier play in mind, one that fell firmly in the “circumvent” category.  The WSC had strictly forbidden the use of the Amazons in this situation.  And Fury’s idealistic grasping to that vision will probably be what costs her her job when this is all over, _if_ this is all over.  She glances back down at the cards, all in their protective sleeves, all unsigned, and sighs. 

Coulson had been a good man, a good agent, a good friend.  Not that Nicole has friends. No, when you’re a spy, you don’t get the luxury of friends.  But if she had a friend, Coulson was as close as she ever got.  They had trained together, decades ago, when they joined SHIELD.  He had backed Nicole’s play when she had thrown in her name to be Director.  Hell, without Phil’s support as one of the top agents in SHIELD, Nicole may not have been chosen.  Because she stepped on a lot of toes, she circumvented more than she obeyed, most people were not happy to see her take over SHIELD. 

Nicole’s not giving up.  No, she never gives up.  Call her foolish and ardent, but she still has hope.  The helicarrier is still in the air.  They’ve lost Loki and the cube, but at least their command post hadn’t crashed into the ocean.  There was still hope.  She _knows_ the Amazons can be successful, she knows they can do what needs to be done to save the world.  SHIELD is encumbered, tied up in bureaucracy, too stuffed with semantics.  Nicole can’t send one of her agents for coffee without three congressional hearings to approve it.

But the Amazons.  They can operate independently, and that’s why they’re needed.  They can do the job that SHIELD was designed to do but is too bloated to carry out anymore.  Nicole can’t command them into action.  None of them are official SHIELD agents, not even Barton and Romanoff.  When they had agreed to join the team, Nicole had ensured that their statuses were changed to “independent contractor.”  So Nicole can’t tell any of them what to do or where to go.  But she can nudge them in the right direction and hope they take the right steps. 

“Ma’am,” Hill calls through the door.  Nicole looks up at the mirror and catches Hill’s eyes in the reflection.  “Stark and Rogers are back.”

“Thor and Banner?” Nicole asks.

“No sign of them,” Hill replies.  “Barton’s been recovered though.  Black Widow has her downstairs trying to break the programming.”

Nicole nods.  Romanoff can take care of that.  If anybody knows how to break brainwashing, it’s Romanoff.  Hill turns and walks away, leaving Nicole alone again.  She casts one more glance at the cards in her hands.

It might be underhanded, but it’s by far not the worst thing that Fury has ever done to ensure freedom.  Pulling the knife from her boot, Fury rolls up her sleeve and slices into her forearm.  She fans the cards out and wipes them across the wound, then once more for good measure. 

She won’t let the Amazons fail.  _She_ won’t fail the Amazons.  And the Amazons won’t fail the world.  Not on Nicole’s watch.

 

***

 

When Jen wakes up, she has no idea where she is, not that that’s anything new.  She’s kicking herself for letting it happen again.  She tries to remember the last things that happened before she turned.  The memories are hazy, they’re always hazy, but Jen can remember the strained and frightened face of Agent Romanoff, trying to coax her down.

“You fell out of the sky,” a man calls. 

Jen shifts, sitting up with a groan.  She’s in a pile of rubble inside a warehouse.  An elderly man in a security guard uniform ambles towards her, climbing unsteadily up the side of the debris pile.  Jen sighs and dry washes her face.

“Did I hurt anybody?” she asks, voice strained.

“There’s nobody around here to get hurt,” the man replies with a vague gesture.  “You did scare the hell out of some pigeons though.”

Well, at least there’s that.  Even though, that’s not really what Jen was asking.  She wasn’t so worried about the landing as she was about everything that had happened beforehand.  The helicarrier.  Agent Romanoff.  Everyone else on board.

“Lucky,” Jen mumbles, already hating herself, beating herself up in her head.  How did she let this happen again?  She thought she had a lid on it.  She was supposed to be controlled, restrained.  How did this happen?

“Or,” the man muses, “just good aim.”  Jen’s head is pounding.  It drops into her hands.  “You were awake when you fell,” the man adds.  Jen cranes to look back at the man.

“You saw?” Jen asks weakly.

“The whole thing.  Right through the ceiling.”  The man glances upward at the hole in demonstration.  Jen doesn’t need to follow his gaze, she knows it’s there.  “Big and green and buck-ass nude.”

Oh right.  Jen suddenly becomes self-conscious, crossing her arms over her chest.  The man reaches down and tosses her something.

“Here,” he calls.  “Didn’t think those would fit until you shrunk down to a regular sized gal.”

Jen unfolds the clothing: a threadbare pair of work pants that look three sizes too big and a dirty T shirt.  But she’s grateful for them all the same, quickly pulling them on.

“Thank you,” Jen says, shimming into the pants.

“Are you an alien?” the man asks.

“What?” Jen almost laughs.

“From outer space, an alien,” the man explains.

Jen shakes her head.  “No.”

“Well the, sweetheart, you’ve got a _condition_ ,” the man muses, shifting to avert his eyes as Jen stands and tugs on the T shirt.

Jen can only nod vaguely.

“That’s one word for it,” she replies quietly.  “Is there any way I can get out of here?  A road or a taxi…or…something?”

“You know anything about engines?” the man asks.

The bike is a tiny, shitty little thing.  The man tells her that it’s been abandoned by the docks for as long as he can remember, broken down.  He tells her that he’s got some tools in his office, if she can fix it up, she can have it.  She thanks him.  Jen is no expert on engines, by any means.  But she does know some engineering, and fixing the thing up should distract her from the mental beating she’s been giving herself.

Even with a project to work on, Jen feels weak, queasy.  The dark monster of her depression rears its head once more, whispers in her ear all of the horrible things that she probably did to those people on board.  The guard asks if Jen would like to watch some TV while she works in his dark guard booth, he has to go make his rounds.  Jen nods, thanks him even more.  He shows her a small minifridge, tells her she can take whatever she likes. 

Jen swallows down a bottle of water to wet her parched throat, hoarse from screaming.  There’s half of a tuna sandwich that Jen scarfs down too.  Jen turns back to her work.  The engine only had a few damaged spark plugs, it takes her about twenty minutes to fix it.  When she revs the ignition and the engine turns over and sputters to life, she whoops, celebratory, jumping to her feet.

That’s when she catches glimpse of the TV, the headline BREAKING NEWS flashing in red at the top.  The image is of Stark Tower from a street level, a security camera feed.  The footage is blurry, but it clearly shows Iron Woman being blasted out of the sky by something on the roof before she recovers shakily, mid-air.  Jen scrambles forward, snatching up the remote and struggling to turn the volume up.

“Yes, Laura, there appears to be some sort of activity on top of Stark Tower.  About twenty minutes ago, pedestrians noticed something amiss happening.  Stark Tower’s AI system had called in a break-in alert a few minutes prior and law enforcement is now on the scene,” a winded reporter calls into the microphone.  “And, oh my goodness there seems to be activity-“ 

People are screaming, the camera pans up to where a body is hurling from the top of the tower.  Glass shatters and something goes tumbling after it.  The camera zooms in and Jen’s heart drops as she watches Stark falling towards the ground.  The rocket propelled machine that’s shooting after her expands, opening up to reveal a suit.  It folds itself around Toni’s body, coming online just in the nick of time.  Toni swerves, shooting upwards, barely missing the ground.  Civilians duck out of the way. 

“Yes I believe that is Iron Woman!” the reporter shouts over the microphone, the camera panning back down to where the reporter is staring up at the top of the tower.  “What is that?” the reporter says.  The camera swivels back up at a dizzying speed as a beam of blue light shoots into the sky from the top of the tower.  The shock wave knocks the windows out of buildings.  Glass falls.  People are screaming.  The camera feed cuts off.

“Emily?” the reporter back at the station calls, worrying in her voice.  “Emily, are you there?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jen says.

At her side, the motorbike is still rumbling.  Jen spins to the faded map on the wall that tells her she’s located about twenty-five miles south of New York City.  Her heart is hammering.  She glances down at the bike.

This is it.  If there was ever a moment to run, it would be now.  That’s what she should do, that would be the smart thing to do, and isn’t Jen supposed to be rather smart?  Wading into that mess where she’s guaranteed to Hulk-out is decidedly a _bad_ idea.  She glances back up at the screen.  The video is playing in slow motion as the reporter back at the station tells them there have been technical difficulties.  Jen swallows and clenches her fists.

This is a really bad idea.

Jen is not a hero, she’s a _monster_ , an uncontrollable killing machine.  There’s no guarantee that she can help, in fact, her new friends (if she can call them that) would probably end up having to fight _her_ on top of everything that Loki’s got in store for them, this army from outer space.  She should run.  It wouldn’t be hard, it would actually probably be easier.  She fulfilled her promise, sort of, she found the cube.  Except not really, she hadn’t found it until it was too late, and then she had gone rage-monster on the crew.  That’s even more of a reason to leave, because she doesn’t know what she’s done, she doesn’t know who she’s hurt or, God forbid, killed.  She should cut her loses, take this bike as far as it will run, stowaway on a ship going _anywhere_ and start again.  Jennifer Banner has started over enough times that it’s practically second nature.

The video feed from in the city is back, and Jen is staring a _hole in the sky_ through which hundreds of tiny crafts are flooding.  Alone amongst them, firing futilely at the crafts, is Toni Stark. 

Jen’s moving before she’s even registered what she saw on the screen, throwing her leg over the motorbike and making the engine whine with how hard she pushes the throttle, narrowly making it out of the tiny security booth and skidding out onto the road.

Jen knows she’s no hero.  But she’s fought plenty of battles on her own.  And there is no way in _hell_ she is going to let her friends go into this fight alone.

 

***

 

The jet is going down.  Steph braces herself on the railing in the ceiling, suddenly wishing she had listened to Barton and buckled up when she had been told.  The jet careens dangerously to the left.  Nat shouts that the left engine is compromised and they hit a building, spinning wildly. 

And Steph thought Cyclone at Coney Island was bad.

The jet hits the freeway, screeching along the blacktop until it shudders to a halt.  In the cockpit, Nat and Clara are unbuckling like a crash landing is no big deal.  Steph regains her balance, rolling her shoulders and running down the ramp.  She looks back up at Stark Tower and the portal beyond, the army of aliens pouring through.  Steph’s never felt so helpless.

“We need to get back up there!” she calls over her shoulder to Nat and Clara.  When she glances back at them, their eyes are wide, watching the portal.  Steph glances up.

Whatever is coming out of the sky is way beyond anything Steph has dealt with before.  She numbly thinks that she owes Fury another ten bucks, if she survives then.  Steph very nearly laughs at the absurdity.  The…creature is massive.  At first Steph thought it was a craft, but then she saw the teeth.  And it’s armored, heavily.  It comes towards them, looking like some sort of ethereal whale, swimming through the sky, turning up to move between the buildings.  From its underbelly, more of the aliens are shot out, landing on the nearby buildings. 

Steph feels so small, so incredibly small and useless down here on the ground.  The Red Skull she can handle, but this? 

Breathing through her nose, Steph closes her eyes and counts to five.  She allows herself five seconds of terror, five seconds to be afraid.  Her nerves light up and she feels herself go cold.  For a second, she’s afraid she might cry.  But by four, she’s swallowing all of that down, because she has a job to do, and she has to do it because no one else can.  On five, she opens her eyes.

“Stark, are you seeing this?” Steph says over her radio.

“Seeing,” Toni calls back.  “Still working on believing.”

Steph can relate.

“Where’s Banner, she show up yet?” Stark asks.

“Banner?”

“Just keep me posted,” Toni shouts over the din.

Nearby, the R from the top of the building comes crashing to the ground.  Steph, Clara and Nat dive for cover behind a taxi.

“The civilians!” Steph shouts at Nat and Clara.  “We have to get the civilians out of here.  We need to get the citizens in the city underground, away from the fire.”

“We’ve got civilian trapped in the buildings!” Clara yells back.

Steph looks up just in time to see a familiar streak of green and gold.

“Loki,” Steph growls. 

Along the highway, the airborne crafts are wreaking havoc, firing on civilians who run along the streets.

“They’re fish in a barrel down there,” Steph mutters.

Nat and Clara jump into action.  Nat throws Steph one last glance and a small smirk, like she’s having the time of her life.

“We got this,” she says confidently.  “We’re good.  Go.”

“You think you can hold them off?” Steph asks.

Clara turns, a gleam in her eye.

“Captain,” Clara says, her smirk matching Nat’s, “it would be my _genuine_ pleasure.”

Clara stands, her arrow landing true in the head of one of the Chitauri, rounds guiding off of it taking out four others in the vicinity.

Don’t gotta tell Steph twice.

She stands, jumping onto the hood of the car and leveraging herself over the barriers, leaping off the bridge and landing on a bus below.  Steph rolls, narrowly avoiding fire from an overhead craft, jumping towards a nearby car.  The craft’s fire hits the underside of the car, throwing it into the air.  Steph uses it to launch herself forward, hitting the street and rolling once again to keep her momentum.  Up ahead, Steph spots a group of police officers.  She runs, zagging through the fray, dodging shots thrown at her and leaping over vehicles until she lands on the hood of the police car in front of the terrified looking cops.

“We need men in those buildings,” Steph directs, pointing out where she means.  “There are people inside and they’re going to be running right into the line of fire.  You take them to the basement or through the subway.  Keep them off the street!”  The men stare up at her confused.  “I need a perimeter as far back at 39th.”

“Why the hell should I take orders from you?” one of the officers barks at Steph.

Definitely not the first time she’s heard that before.  But there’s no time to argue.  Behind her is an explosion.  Steph stands and turns just in time for four of the Chitauri to land on either side of her.  The first she knocks unconscious with her shield.  The next one comes at her with its weapon.  She blocks the shots before knocking it away.  She turns in time to whack the weapon away of the third and knock it out as well.  The last one fires and misses, so Steph grabs hold of the barrel of the weapon.  She realizes the weapon is fused to the creature’s arm, so she uses her shield to relieve it of said arm.  The alien howls, and Steph butts it with her shield, sending it flying.

Steph huffs, standing up straight again.  The cop’s eyes are the size of saucers.

“I need men in those buildings,” the officer says suddenly, turning to face his men. 

Steph smirks.  Guess she’s starting to have a little fun too.

Steph works her way back towards Nat and Clara.  They’re surrounded but easily holding their own.  It feels so good to be back in action, working with a team, that Steph is grinning when she joins the melee.  Electricity crackles overhead, knocking out some of the aliens and Steph turns to see Thor land hard.  She grabs her side and stumbles, struggling to stand.

“What’s the story upstairs?” Steph calls, running up to offer Thor an arm.  Thor waves it away.

“The power surrounding the cube is impenetrable,” Thor reports, sounding winded.

“Thor’s right, we gotta deal with these guys,” Toni shouts over the radio.

“How do we do this?” Nat asks breathlessly.

“As a team,” Steph replies immediately.

“I have unfinished business with Loki,” Thor huffs, clearly injured.

“Yeah?” Clara asks from behind Thor.  “Well get in line.”

“Save it,” Steph barks.  “Loki’s gonna keep the fight focused on us, and that’s what we need.  Without her these things could run wild.”  Steph turns, squinting as she looks around for Toni.  “We got Stark up top.  She’s gonna need us to-“

There’s a rumbling from behind Steph, an approaching, tired sounding engine.  Steph turns to look over her shoulder.

Dr. Banner looks weary.  She’s barefoot, dirty, in clothes that don’t fit, and riding a broken-down looking motorcycle.  But there’s a fight in her eyes.  She climbs off the bike as the rest of the team approaches, leaning it against an overturned car gingerly.

“So,” she calls, throwing her arms out.  “This all seems…horrible.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Nat replies.

Banner cringes.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

“No,” Nat says.  “We could use a little…worse.”

Banner nods, shifting uncomfortably and looking to Steph for direction.

“Stark,” Steph says to the radio.  “We got her.”

“ _Banner_?!” Stark replies enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, just like you said.”

Banner shoots Steph a questioning look, but Stark is replying over the radio.

“Then tell her to suit up because I’m bringing the party to you.”

At that moment, Iron Woman comes careening around the corner onto Twelfth Street.  Hot on her tail is the celestial whale, howling in ferocity as it floats after her, massive and menacing.  Beside Steph, Thor growls in recognition, tightening her grip on her hammer.

“I-I don’t see how that’s a party,” Nat says lightly.

Banner turns back to glance at Steph, eyebrows high.  Steph nods slightly. 

“Dr. Banner, now might be a really good time for you to get angry,” Steph says carefully.  Maybe she’s foolish for putting faith in Banner’s other personality.  But right now, they don’t have many other options.

For her part, Banner has turned and is calmly walking towards the chaos.  She glances back at Steph, a careful smirk pulling up the corners of her mouth.

“That’s my secret, Captain,” she calls back to Steph before coming to a stop and turning back to face the oncoming creature.  She throws one last knowing glance back at Steph.

“I’m always angry.”

The Hulk roars, landing a massive fist between the beast’s eyes, skidding backwards but holding its ground.  The alien collapses, tail end flipping over itself as the armor goes flying from its body.  Stark circles around, firing a rocket at the beast.  Steph grabs Nat and pulls them both under the cover of her shield as the explosion blows the creature in two.  It falls out of the air, flopping over the side of the bridge and crashing loudly in the street.  The Hulk straightens and roars, deafeningly.  Behind Steph, Stark lands.  Clara pulls back another arrow as Thor scoops up her hammer, spinning it in her grip.  Nat recovers, dropping the magazine from her pistol to reload it with one from her hip.

There are still civilians on the street.  They peek out from their cover and glance up at the Amazons, eyes wide and appreciative.  One man nearby begins to clap.  Then another person steps out from their hiding spot and begins to cheer as well.  Before Steph knows it, a resounding roar is echoing through the streets, people whooping and shouting and clapping. 

The grin on Steph’s face is impossible to hide.  She turns to look at Toni.

“Guys?” Nat asks, drawing their attention to the portal, where more of the massive space-whales are slithering out into this realm.

Toni looks back at Steph.  Steph can’t see her eyes, but she can hear the matching grin in Toni’s voice.

“Call it, Captain.”   

***

“Stark!” Fury shouts.  “Do you hear me?!”

“This is Toni,” Toni replies pleasantly as the Chitauri knock her to the ground.

“You have a missile headed straight for city!”

Toni goes cold.  Great.  Just what they need.  So glad SHIELD is on it.

“How long?” Toni gasps, pushing herself up to be promptly knocked to the ground again.

“Three minutes max.  The payload will wipe out Midtown.”

 Toni feels herself go numb.  She can’t feel her body, can’t hear anything outside of Fury telling her that she’s going to stitch her into the pilot’s feed.  Unsure what she’s doing, Toni can feel herself moving.  It’s like she’s in a dream, floating along in a reality that she’s not actually a part of.  She hears herself tell JARVIS to put everything they have into the thrusters.  The aliens are still around her on all sides, but JARVIS’s voice calls out to her.

“I just did.”

Toni is floating.  She assume she has a plan, that she’s made a decision, but she can’t exactly pinpoint what that decision is.  She’s moving, flying, out across the bay.  In her ear, a strange voice speaks.

“Package is sent.  Detonation is two minutes, thirty seconds, mark, over.”

Right.  A missile.  There’s a missile.  Toni should do something about that.  But apparently she already is.  Because JARVIS already has a lock on the location.  God, JARVIS is good.  Probably one of Toni’s greatest achievements, but how sad is that?  The thing she’s most proud of is building herself a friend.

Is that how she’s thinking right now?  In finality?  Has she already made that decision?  Apparently, Toni has, because she’s moving across the bay, locked onto the position.  What’s her plan exactly?  Is she about to die?  She thinks she is.  She must be.  Otherwise she wouldn’t be looking at a nuclear missile darting between the struts of the bridge.  What’s she going to do with it exactly?

“I can close it!” Agent Romanoff’s voice echoes around Toni’s helmet.  “Can anybody copy?  I can shut the portal down.”

“Do it!”  That’s Steph.

“No, wait.”  Toni hears her own voice but she doesn’t feel her lips move.  Her body is moving more quickly than her mind. 

“Stark, these things are still comin’!” Rogers replies, desperation in her voice.

“I’ve got a nuke coming in,” Toni says.  “It’s gonna blow in less than a minute.”

What’s her plan again?  Oh yes.  The missile.  She looks at it.  It’s so close, but feels so far.  Romanoff can close the portal.  That’s good.  So all Toni has to do is get the missile through the portal in time.  And then what?  Toni doesn’t know.  But she’s still moving, situating herself just under the thrusters of the missile.

“I know just where to put it.”  That’s Toni’s voice again.  She wishes she knew exactly what she was doing.  But she seems to be in automatic.  Moving, acting, doing without thinking.  _That’s alright_ , she thinks.  A small part of her wants to smile with pride at how easily this comes to her body, even if her brain is no longer involved.

There’s no time for thinking, though.  She just has to do.  There isn’t any time to think and, boy, that’s the first time Toni has ever thought _that_.  She never dreamed she would see the day when Toni Stark decided action was better than thought.  When people had told her about those sentiments, those moments, Toni had scoffed.  _There’s always time for thought_ , she had wanted to say.  Apparently, Toni was wrong.  That’s a first.

“Stark, you know that’s a one way trip.”  Toni doesn’t know whose voice that is, or if it’s a voice at all.  Maybe it’s just her inner monologue, because when she really locks onto it, that’s all her survival instincts have been screaming at her all along.

“Save the rest for the turn, J,” Toni says.  And that is her voice.  She marvels again at her body running on auto-pilot. 

JARVIS is so wonderful.  Toni is so happy that she made him.  She’s never had a friend as good as JARVIS.  And isn’t that kind of sad, Toni’s greatest achievement is building herself a friend.

“Ma’am, shall I try Miss Potts?” JARVIS asks, voice low, as if he understands the gravity of the situation.

JARVIS really is wonderful, Toni thinks.  One of her greatest achievements.  Making herself a friend, one of the greatest feats of Toni Stark.  Toni wants to laugh, but she feels like she’s told herself this joke before.

The picture of Pepper flickers into the corner of Toni’s view.  Oh, Pepper.  Pepper.  The best thing in Toni’s life.  The balancing agent to Toni’s nuclear personality.  The only thing that grounds Toni, brings her back to earth when her head floats too close to the clouds.

“Splash, over.”  Whose voice is that?  That’s not Pepper.  Oh right, Pepper.

Is this the last time she’s going to speak to Pepper?  That can’t be right.  But still, that somehow feels like it must be true.  Toni settles back into her skin for a moment, remembering suddenly the missile on her shoulders, the portal splitting open the sky.  Oh, right.  Toni’s never going to speak to Pepper again.

But JARVIS is already phoning Pepper.  Toni notices that at the bottom of the screen.  Toni wants to cry because JARVIS is such a good friend.  Isn’t that a little sad?  The only friend Toni has had in her life, she had to build. 

The phone rings and rings.  Who is Toni calling again?  She can’t remember.  In front of her is Stark Tower, the crumbling remains of New York.  Right.  Missile.  Tony’s thrusters angle her up and she barely scrapes along the surface of the building.  It’s gone and suddenly Toni is staring at a hole ripped into the blue of the sky.

She’s going to die, isn’t she?  Toni feels like she should be sad.  But as she suddenly passes the barrier between New York and the deep reaches of outer space, Toni feels nothing.  There’s a ringing in Toni’s ear.  Right, a phone call.  Who is she calling?  Toni glances down at the picture at the bottom of her display.  Pepper.  Right, Pepper.  Oh god, she hopes she gets to talk to Pepper before she dies.  She wants to tell her that she loves her, with everything she has.  Toni wants to thank Pepper for being the best thing in her life. 

Toni is staring up at a massive vessel.  JARVIS tries to speak, “Ma’a…” he crackles before Toni’s suit powers down entirely.  Toni watches the picture of Pepper disappear.

Toni’s going to die, she remembers.  And suddenly, that’s abundantly clear.  There are tears in her eyes.  She had just wanted to tell Pepper that she loves her. 

The suit is dead, and Toni is nothing but dead weight.  She falls away from the missile, the gravity of earth pulling her back towards the portal.  The missile heads straight towards the massive command ship.  Toni watches the explosion, the bright light, the ball of fire, all in deafening silence.  Toni huffs.  She can feel a tear run down her face.

She’s going to die.

Toni’s head feels like it’s going to explode.  Somewhere, in the recess of her mind, she tells her self that the G-force is too strong and that she’s going to pass out.  Another voice, which feels like it’s clawing its way up from Toni’s heart, reminds her that she’s about to die.

When Toni closes her eyes, she knows it’s for the last time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of angst coming in the next chapter. You've been warned. Also, Science Girlfriends.


	6. Where Do We Go From Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANGST ahead people, you've been warned. Depression, anxiety, flashbacks, all sorts of sad stuff. If any of that's a trigger, stay away.  
> Also, minor Science Girlfriends.
> 
> As promised, some Stephanie Rogers inspiration
> 
> http://hotphotography.tumblr.com/post/129143372748
> 
> https://66.media.tumblr.com/93ac0eb5165f2c51959084d3bc7aa300/tumblr_nduzyzUHzZ1rqfvo0o1_500.jpg
> 
> (this one has my faves of Steph and Bucky)  
>  http://rebloggy.com/post/steve-rogers-marvel-bucky-barnes-hammandbuble-fem-bucky-fem-steve-do-you-like-ho/85860840687
> 
>  
> 
> Toni Stark
> 
> https://taikova.tumblr.com/post/122167852468/personally-i-think-lesbian-tony-stark-is-the-best
> 
> http://objectively-pink.deviantart.com/art/AV-Working-Girl-158410841

“Dr. Elizabeth Ross, MD.  Harvard University, Cellular Biology.” 

Through the tears in Jen’s eyes, she glances at the picture of Betty, heart twisting painfully when she notices the necklace.  She should be happy, knowing that Betty’s most cherished possession is back in her hands, but all Jen can think about is the way that necklace felt when it pooled against her chest as Betty kissed her, the same way it pooled when Jen dropped it into that envelope and prayed it would get back to Betty as her final goodbye.

Jen so desperately wants to dig more, wants to keep pushing, wants to reach out to Betty.  But she knows she can’t.  Jen tries to tell herself that she only wants to know that Betty is safe, only wants to see if she’s finally found the happiness deserves.  But Jen knows that that is just a lie she is telling herself.  Her fingers twitch, wanting to click on the link, peruse Betty’s bio.  But before she gets the chance, a video pops up on her screen.

It’s a crowd of cheering people, waving signs.  The sign in the middle, held by an older gentleman as he marches in a parade, is on a big, green poster board.

“HULK = HERO”

Jen turns in her seat to find Toni leaned against the doorway.  She wipes her eyes, tries to pretend that she wasn’t just crying.  Toni spares her and doesn’t mention it.

“What’s this?” Jen asks, voice hoarse.

Toni strides into the room, dropping the tablet in her hands onto the table.

“Oh I just thought that you’d like to see what people are saying about you,” Toni says casually.  Jen snorts.

“They must have short memories,” she retorts, refusing to meet Toni’s eyes.

“Hey,” Tony calls softly.  Jen bites her lip and dares a glance upward.  Toni is dresses in a pair of corduroy pants, a gray AC/DC T-shirt that fits her loose and scoops down to show her cleavage, with a slate gray jacket thrown over top.  Her dark hair is in a messy bun, held together with a well-chewed pencil.  The entire look is casual yet still gives off the air that Toni’s is just too rich to care.  Jen knows better than to think the clothes are cheap.  She’s wearing some of Toni’s clothes now, having lost her own once again.  It’s a pair of light gray slacks and a yellow button up shirt and the tags say “Tom Ford” so Jen knows that this one outfit costs more than Jen’s whole wardrobe (but that’s not really saying much).  “My offer still stands,” Toni says.

Jen laughs through her nose.

“What?  The one where we run away together and do _science_ together until the end of time?”  Jen can’t help the bitter, derisive tone of her voice. 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Toni says immediately.

“You’re delusional,” Jen shoots back.

Toni nods.  “It’s been said.”

“I’m serious Toni!”  Jen didn’t mean to shout just now, but that’s how it had come out.  So Jen laughs scornfully and then continues.  “I’m a wanted fugitive.  Not the best house guest in Midtown, New York.”

“Not anymore,” Toni replies casually, checking her nails.

Jen pauses a beat.

“What do you mean?” Jen asks cautiously.

Toni laughs and sits on the edge of the table in front of Jen.

“I’m _Toni Stark_ , Jen.”  Jen wants to laugh at Toni’s ego.  “I have the best lawyers around.  And nobody wants to see you behind bars, not now, not after you saved all of our asses.”  Toni stops, suddenly looking nervous.  “Saved my ass,” she adds, dropping her eyes.

“I didn’t save anyone.”

“Yes, you did,” Toni argues.  “You came back.  You suited up.  You put yourself at risk for the sake of others.  That’s what heroes _do_.” 

“Toni, you’ve been a hero for like 18 hours.  Don’t act like you’re some expert,” Jen snaps.  She doesn’t know why she’s arguing. 

“The others want you to stay too.”

Jen whips her eyes back to where Toni is staring at her looking, frankly, earnest and naked.  Jen furrows her brow.  It’s not an expression that Jen has ever seen on the face of Toni Stark before.

“And I want you to stay,” Toni adds quietly. 

And Jen wants to stay.  There’s nothing in the world that sounds as appealing as living in La La Land with Toni Stark and the Amazons, free from guilt or pain or criminal charges, for the rest of eternity.  But Jen’s optimistic days are over.

“Plus, I know how to fix _this_.”  Toni leans over, one long finger landing on the heart rate monitor on Jen’s wrist.

“Fix it how?  I’ve tried everything.  And, no offense, Toni, but you’re not a doctor.”

“No offense, but I _am_ a genius,” Toni answers.

“How?”  Because Jen has tried everything.  But her heart rate is the best indication that she has for a change.  And Jen’s never figured out how to keep it low enough that she’s not constantly walking on eggshells. 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Toni teases, waving a finger.  “You’ll have to come to Stark Tower to find out.”

Jen stares at her, blank anger on her face for a long moment.  But Toni just smiles pleasantly back.

“That’s extremely unfair and incredibly… _illogical_ ,” Jen retorts.

“Jen, I’m trying to hand you the world on a silver platter,” Toni huffs, sounding fed up.  “Just, do me a favor, and let yourself have it?  Huh?  Let yourself be happy.”

“And you think I’ll be happy living with you?”

“I think there’s only one way to find out.”

There’s a challenge in Toni’s sharp eyes; they’re narrowed and twinkling and Jen can’t put her finger on the emotion being reflected then.  All Jen can do is huff, throw up her hands dramatically, then dry wash her face for good measure because Toni is watching her closely and Jen has to make this look like she’s trying to make up her mind.

But Jen’s mind is already made it, and she knows it.  She already has her answer.

“Fine,” Jen forces out, making herself sound annoyed instead of buzzing with elation.  Toni’s face splits into a smile that makes Jen want to kiss her.  Instead, Jen holds up a finger.  “ _But_ only until you help me with my heart rate.  Then I’m gone.”

Toni winks at Jen.

“Sure you are,” Toni smirks.

It’s at that moment that Toni’s phone begins to ring.  Its Rogers, telling Toni that Thor and Loki are about to leave.  Toni tells Jen to get her things and leaves the room before Jen can reply.  Jen doesn’t really have many things, just a dirty gym bag full of ratty clothing and a filled up notebook.  But Jen goes searching for them anyway.  She’s in the SHIELD compound so she finds Black Widow just down the hall, sparing with Hawkeye, as if they’re both don’t have a black eye and multiple contusions. 

Romanoff leads Jen to where her olive green bag has been locked inside a locker, like it’s something that holds any value.  While Jen contemplates changing into her own clothes, Romanoff takes a phone call, the same one Toni had gotten apparently.  Romanoff tells Jen to grab her things because she’s taking her with her.  It’s twenty minutes later when Jen’s in the back seat of a small car, Barton and Romanoff up front, neither one talking at all, though Jen definitely notices their hands moving plenty.

It’s almost comical, seeing the rest of the Amazons in street clothes (besides Thor, of course, and a muzzled Loki in tow).  In Thor’s other hand is a housing unit for the Tesseract.  Dr. Selvig call’s Jen over once she is out of the car.  He opens the case for her, and Jen uses a pair of tongs to gingerly lift the cube and put it into Thor’s unit.  She steps back into the semi-circle made by the rest of the team.  Thor turns, says a quiet, friendly goodbye to Selvig before she rotates and looks at the rest of the group. 

“Champions,” Thor says fondly, but just as grandiose as always, “I look forward to meeting you upon the battlefield in the days to come.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Nat drawls.

Thor nods, curt and formal before tugging on the lead of Loki’s binds.

“I have faith that we will see each other once again,” Thor promises.

Thor holds the unit out to Loki, who takes the opposite handle in her grip.  Thor glances up, meeting the eyes of everyone once more before twisting her handle.  There is a whirring noise.  Everyone takes a step back as a blue ball of light engulfs both Thor and Loki and shoots into the sky.  The whining gets higher, and suddenly they both disappear, no evidence that they ever stood where they had been just moments before.

When everyone’s eyes come back down, they stare at one another for a long, quiet moment.

“Well?” Steph says, finally breaking the silence.  “What now?”

Romanoff turns to give Barton a knowing glance.  Barton nods and Romanoff looks back at the rest of the group.

“The Hawk and I here are heading to DC,” she says.  “Gonna kick around a few leads we have for Fury.  See what we can dig up.”

“Jenny’s coming home with me to play Mad Scientist for a bit, isn’t that right, pal?” Toni calls.

Jen shrugs awkwardly, uncomfortable with all of the eyes on her.  Luckily, a moment later, everyone is looking at Steph.  When Steph realizes it, she begins to turn red.

“I-I-…uhm,” Steph stammers.  “I think I’m just going to see what happens next…”

Toni shrugs and the rest of the team seems to accept that answer. 

“Just so you all know,” Toni speaks up, pointing a finger at all of them, “I’ve got some serious Christmas presents for all of you this year.  And also, JARVIS has you all on speed dial.  If you don’t come to Thanksgiving, I’m going to be personally offended.”

That garners laughter from the group, the tense moment broken.  Going on an unspoken cue, they all turn to go their separate ways.  A small part of Jen wants to yell out to them.  It might be stupid, but she already thinks of them all as friends.  She doesn’t want them to go, doesn’t want to lose them so soon.  But then she meets Toni’s eye and remembers that she won’t be alone.

Jen follows Romanoff back to the car and she tosses her Jen’s bag of meager belongings.  When Jen turns, Rogers is shaking Toni’s hand amicably and Jen can’t help but feel a little glad for that fact.  Rogers then heads towards a motorcycle that Jen has no idea how she got, and doesn’t bother to ask.  Because Toni is jumping into her cherry red Acura concept car.  Jen shakes her head a bit, suddenly reminded of _who_ exactly she has agreed to move in with, for the time being.  For now, she decides not to question or overthink.  Jen needs a bit of a break from the pity party in her own head anyway.  So she walks around the passenger side and climbs in, tossing her bag in the back.

Maybe this is a foolish decision.  Maybe Jen should be running, not cruising away with Toni Stark in a flashy car like everything is normal, even when it is decidedly not (they just saved the world form an _alien attack_ ).  But when Jen glances over at Toni and Toni responds with a winning, cover girl smile, Jen can’t help but smile back.

Maybe, for once, Jen’s made the right decision.

 

***

 

Fury’s offer to work for SHIELD Steph still stands.  Nat has been insistent that Steph should come to DC and work with her and Clara.  But after finding the Hydra weapons on board the helicarrier, Steph just can’t stomach the idea of stumbling on another surprise like that.  She thinks she needs some time off, find out who she is outside of the Army.  Steph doesn’t know exactly what her status is, per say, when it comes to the government, but Fury tells her that she’ll “take care of it” and that, at least, Steph can trust.  Since Steph became Captain America, that’s all that she has been, not even death changed that.  So Steph figures it’s time to just be Stephanie Rogers for a while and to navigate this century, which still surprises her every day.

The promise to get her whatever she needs from Fury and all the rest comes in handy.  Steph asks for an apartment downtown, and thirty minutes later she’s being handed the keys to a fully furnished flat.  The world is still reeling after the attack from outer space, and Steph spends hours watching the news.  The pundits are so angry and can never agree.  The nonstop drabble and back and forth gets annoying fast, but when an angry man named Bill O’Riley launches into an attack against _Steph_ and how she’s a poor model for little girls, Steph turns off the television for good.

Steph still visits Peggy when she can.  She’s got nothing but time and a credit card with no limit, so their visits are fairly common.  They’ll talk for hours—about New York, about the Amazons, about Steph, about Peggy’s grandchildren—before Peggy selects a movie for them that they watch while holding hands. 

One particular afternoon, as the credits for “The Exorcist” roll, Peggy turns to look at Steph with a gleam in her eye.

“So,” Peggy breaths, “are you seeing anyone?”

 “I see lots of people.  What do you mean?” Steph asks.

“Oh don’t be foolish.  Are you seeing anyone?” Peggy chastises.  “ _Romantically._ ”

Steph snorts, not able to stop herself.

“No,” is all Steph says.

“Come now,” Peggy pleads.  “No special ladies?”

Steph shifts uncomfortable, tugging her hand away from Peggy and looking around, paranoid even though she knows they’re alone.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steph mutters.

Peggy is just smiling.

“Oh darling,” Peggy sighs.  “You poor thing.  It’s alright, things are much different now.”

Steph throws Peggy a glance.  “Different how?”

Peggy leans forward to grab Steph’s hand again.  “No need to hide anymore, my dear.”

“Hide what?” Steph asks, a little too loudly.

Peggy just sighs, a sad, sympathetic look in her eyes.

“Stephanie, nobody cares who you love any longer,” she says softly.

Steph tries to look anywhere _but_ Peggy.  It’s not like Peggy doesn’t know.  Hell, Steph had maybe almost loved Peggy once, a long time ago.  She still maybe kinda loves her now.  But that doesn’t mean that Steph is just going to _talk_ about this sort of thing out in the open.

“I know you loved Jamie, do you think I didn’t?” Peggy asks.

Steph shoots her a look, color draining from her face.  She doesn’t need the reminder right now.  She was actually having a good day, hadn’t spent one single minute of it wallowing in the past.  But here was Peggy, dragging her into a time machine.

“Jamie was my friend,” is all Steph says back.

Peggy just nods sadly.  Thankfully, she changes the subject then and easily maneuvers Steph off her own train of destructive thoughts.

When Steph isn’t visiting Peggy, she doesn’t know what to do with herself.  She tries to jog in Central Park, but there’s always someone wanting to take her picture.  She tries to get a membership at a gym nearby, but two days later she’s strolling past a magazine stand and suddenly sees a blurry picture of herself doing pullups on the cover of a tabloid with a the title “Kanye Says Steph’s Ass is a 10: Get Captain America’s Workout, pg 29.”

Steph finds herself visiting Toni and Jen a lot at Stark Tower, now being remodeled and renamed Amazon Tower.  Steph finds that when she lets her guard down, she actually _likes_ Toni.  And Toni always has some new gadget for Steph to try.  Because, apparently, being a part of the Amazons has inspired Toni and she’s always working on something new for the team.  “Upgrades,” Toni calls them.  Toni also tells Steph she can use the gym on the fourth floor, which Steph is grateful for.  Steph ends up in Amazon Tower so often that JARVIS has started just letting her in without calling Toni first.

But Toni and Jen are in their own little world, one that Steph has no part in.  She’s not bitter about that—on the contrary, she’s ecstatic to see them both happy—but Steph knows nothing about science, and the two of them get into manic crazes and lock themselves in the laboratory and Steph has nothing to do but wander back to her empty apartment.  She’s tried, on a few occasions, to talk to Pepper Potts, Toni’s girlfriend, but Pepper and Steph are from two different worlds.  Pepper is always nothing but friendly, but she’s a tall, gorgeous, elegant woman in expensive clothes who is always jetting away on a private jet to handle business as CEO of Stark Industries, so Steph can’t really relate. 

In the end, New York City is just full of too many ghosts.  It’s not always noticeable, but Steph will be walking with her head down and cap pulled low to avoid reporters and, when she glances up, she realizes that she recognizes the place that she’s standing.  It’s changed, obviously, but Steph will look across the street and she can almost see Bucky, waving back at her from the recesses of some long-ago memory. 

So it’s not very long before Steph is calling Nat, asking if she could pull some strings and get her moved to DC.  Steph knows that she doesn’t have to go there, she could go anywhere in the entire world if she wanted.  But she doesn’t know many people, doesn’t have many friends.  And Steph can’t handle the thought of being alone.

The apartment Steph is given in DC is a little smaller than her one in New York, but it’s just as nice.  Steph tries to get comfortable, but there are still shadows in dark corners and she spends most nights wailing on the punching bag that she’s installed in her home, pretending they’re the nightmares that chase her out of bed.  Nat and Clara are away on mission more than they are home, so Steph ends up being alone anyway.  She runs a lot.  In DC, she can run laps around the mall while the sun rises and barely anybody pays her any mind.  It’s nice to open up her legs, just breath in the morning air and let herself run like she’s trying to outrun her demons.

In the mail and on the phone are endless requests for Steph to do _press_.  She really doesn’t want to, but there are a few she can’t turn down.  Reading books to school children.  A memorial being erected to the 107 th in Pennsylvania, attended by surviving service members.  A lavish dinner that Toni holds.  An invitation to the swearing in of President Ellis.  Sometimes, it feels nice to be out in the world, but then Steph gets home and inevitably stumbles upon some article about what she was _wearing_.

“Captain America is looking hobo-chic in a casual pair of torn blue jeans and an oversized sweater on Friday to read to students of Benjamin Franklin Elementary School.”  The article usually completely ignores the fact that Steph was doing anything more than wearing clothes.  It’s infuriating.  Steph’s never paid any attention to what she wore before.  Even less now, because the 21st century seems only able to outfit the smallest women, and Steph is far from a small woman. 

After Toni’s event, an obnoxious man named Rush Limbough, who shouts at people through the radio for a living, asks if Steph is just a “man in a dress,” before telling his listeners _just_ how ugly he thinks Steph is.  Steph’s never been vain, but she can’t believe the nerve of this guy. 

“Relax,” May tells her at lunch one day, between missions.  “He’s just an angry, insignificant man who can’t handle the fact that a group of badass _women_ were the ones who saved the world.  So he’s going to whine and stomp his feet and insult women the only way he knows how, by calling them ugly.”

“But I’m more than just…just…just what I look like!” Steph almost shouts.

“I know that, Steph.  We all know that.  But he’s a piece of work who thinks that all women _should_ be is pretty.  It’s an unintelligent insult.  You just have to rise about it.  You certainly had to deal with this kind of stuff in the forties?”

It’s true, the military men of her era were _not happy_ that a woman was made an officer, and they were downright riotous when she was appointed to lead them during certain missions.  But Steph hadn’t had the time to dwell.  By the time news reached her ear of the terrible things that had been said, she was already planning the next mission.

But now?

Now Steph had nothing _but_ time.  All she does is sit around and dwell.  She needs a distraction.  She can’t get a normal job, working at a coffee shop just isn’t possible for Captain America.  So, feeling like a failure, Steph finds her way into Nicole Fury’s office. 

Because apparently being Stephanie Rogers is too hard for her.  Maybe she’s not Stephanie Rogers anymore.  She needs a mask to hide behind.  And the mask of Captain America has always worked out for her in the past.

 

***

 

The Cryo Room remains locked at all times.  There are only four Hydra agents with the authority to enter the room.  The Suspended Animation Chamber itself is a menacing looking thing.  Four inches of bullet thick glass separate the world from the weapon within.  It’s filled with a viscous yellow fluid that’s kept at -140 degrees Celsius.  Wires and tubes lead in, connecting directly with the Winter Soldier, pumping the Soldier’s body full of a freezing agent, an augmented serum, and minor nutrients to prevent extensive damage.  The Winter Soldier herself is a frightening sight.  Outfitted in a tight, black skinsuit, she’s held upright in the chamber with clamps, looking like a deadly puppet on her strings.  Her brown hair sticks out in frozen clumps from her head.  A mask covers most of her face, there to feed her oxygen during the dethawing process.  Googles protect her eyes from the damage Hydra has learned the flash freezing can cause.  Monitors around the room gather dust, waiting to be called upon again the next time the Soldier is needed.  The only light is cast by the brain wave monitor which is always kept on.  It rarely reflects activity during suspension, and there is rarely anyone around to see it.

Five floors up, on the first subfloor of the bank, Jasper Sitwell fidgets in his seat.

“Well?” Alexander Pierce presses.

“Well,” Sitwell parrots, unsure how to respond.  “She’s _Captain America_ , I don’t know what you want me to tell you.  Turn on the news, the one that’s running around in a red, white and blue leotard, that’s her.  That’s who she is, that’s all I saw.”

“I don’t want to know who Captain America is, I know who Captain America is,” Pierce snaps.  “I want to know who Stephanie Rogers is.  I want to know if she is a threat to us, or if she could be an ally.”

Sitwell tries hard not to laugh.

“Sir, Captain America is nothing but a threat to us,” Sitwell responds.  “She’s…she’s exactly as gung-ho and patriotic as her cartoon character.  I don’t know what to tell you other than that.  She died fighting Hydra in ’44.  And even _if_ we can somehow convince her to come to our side, do you really think she’ll stick around when she sees what we’ve done to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Sergeant Barnes is dead,” Peirce corrects.

“No.  Hydra tried to kill Barnes.  But she is not dead.  The person who stumbled into that apartment on Fourth of July was Sergeant Barnes, not the Winter Soldier.”

“She stumbled in there confused.  Then she killed that entire family.  Does that sound like Sergeant Barnes to you?”

Sitwell fidgets again, refolding his hands.

“Sir, I stand by my original assessment.  Rogers needs to be eliminated before she poses a bigger threat than she already is,” Sitwell says, eyes cast down.

Pierce appears to think about that, leaning back in his chair.  Sitwell takes that as a good sign.

“Rogers is ‘on leave’ right now according to Fury.  She’s living DC as we speak.  Finding her wouldn’t be hard.  And staging a car accident.  Cars today are nothing like they used to be, everyone would accept it,” Sitwell insists.

Pierce shakes his head.  “No, we have to wait.  I can’t do anything that would get Fury suspicious.  Wait until then end of Phase III, then we do it.  Until then,” Pierce leans forward, “I want there to be an eye kept on Captain Rogers.  Put Rumlow on it.”

Sitwell wants to say something.  He doesn’t think Rumlow is the best option, the guy’s known to have a hot temper.  But he nods anyway, getting up from his seat.

“Yes, sir,” he mutters, turning to leave the room.

Back in the Cryo Room, the brain wave monitor blinks to life. 

The Winter Soldier is not dreaming.  The Winter Soldier cannot dream.  She has no memories.  But Bucky Barnes?  Bucky can dream.

_“See?  Told you,” Bucky laughs, downing the shot in her hand and waving at the bartender for another.  “They’re all idiots.”_

_Steph comes around Bucky, settling on the bar stool beside her.  Bucky glances over as the bartender slides her another shot._

_“How bout you?” Steph asks, eyes down._

_Bucky leans back to look at Steph for real.  She looks good, Bucky can give her that.  It’s not the new body, not that the new body isn’t nice.  No, it’s something else.  There’s a look in Steph’s eye, a gleam, the same gleam that is there when her back is against the wall in an alleyway, but she’s still throwing punches.  Except that gleam is brighter now.  And it’s the uniform.  Well-fitting, hugging all the right curves.  Bucky can’t lie to herself, she’s a sucker for a woman in uniform._

_All Bucky can think about it ripping it off of her._

_“You ready to follow_ Captain America _into the jaws of death?” Steph continues._

_Bucky snorts.  “Hell no,” she says plainly.  She glances down.  “But that little girl from Brooklyn that was too…dumb to run away from a fight.”  Bucky pauses, glancing up at Steph and meeting her beautiful blue eyes.  For a moment, Bucky gets lost in them.  “I’m following her.”_

_The moment is heavy.  There’s something in Steph’s eyes and Bucky can’t place what it is.  So Bucky downs her next shot.  She jostles Steph’s shoulder playfully._

_“But you’re keeping the outfit, right?”_

_Steph rolls her eyes.  Bucky laughs a bit at her expense, but Steph’s gaze has fallen on a poster behind the bar.  It’s of Steph in a red, white and blue costume, saluting the_ camera.   _A sticker with the words "TOUR CANCELLED" has been slapped across the face of the poster._

_“You know what?” Steph muses.  “It’s kinda growing on me.”_

_Bucky gulps.  She had just been teasing, but suddenly her fantasies have shifted.  Now, instead of throwing Steph against the bar, claiming her in front of all the drunken, shouting Army men in the Rusted Nail Bar, and tearing off her olive green Army uniform, Bucky is having a different mental image.  Because now, Steph’s in that_ suit. _And they’re not in the bar anymore, they’re in the capital.  No wait, in the_ Oval Office _and Steph is_ screaming _Bucky’s name._

 _A warm feeling is growing between Bucky’s thighs.  She licks her lips and glances at Steph._ God _, Bucky’s such a reprobate.  But she wouldn’t have it any other way.  So Bucky leans forward._

 _“Good,” she whispers in Steph’s ear, glad that there are men singing drunkenly,_ loudly _to drown them out, give them a private moment, “because I_ really _want to tear it off of you.”_

 _Steph goes rigid and Bucky can’t help but laugh at the blush that reddens the tip of her ears.  Bucky wants to kiss it, nibble on Steph’s earlobes, slide her hand up her thigh,_ God! _Bucky is riled up.  Maybe it’s the alcohol.  Or maybe it’s not seeing Steph for so long.  Or maybe it’s because Steph is now bigger, and there are bigger_ parts _to match.  Oh yes, Bucky could get used to those parts.  She wants to put her hands on those parts, see how they look outside of the confines of that uniform.  She doesn’t care what the cause is, because she just_ needs _Steph_ now!

_Bucky wants to say those things, tell Steph all of the filthy things running through Bucky’s mind.  But Steph’s attention has been pulled.  In fact, the entire bar has gone quiet.  Bucky looks around, catching the line of sight that she must be missing.  Everyone is looking at the door.  So Bucky grabs the bar and leans back on her stool to see what all the fuss is about._

_A woman stands in the doorway.  She’s dressed in a tight red dress that hugs her hourglass figure generously.  She has loose brown curls that fall to her shoulders.  A sharp jawline and cat-like features make up her face.  Bucky has to admit, the girl is a bombshell._

_And she looks suspiciously like Bucky.  You know, if Bucky ever cleaned up, put on a dress, gave a damn about her hair, didn’t always have split knuckles from getting in street brawls, acted like a lady, knew how to walk in heels, owned lipstick, and wasn’t constantly slinging whiskey down her throat.  You know, a_ better _version of Bucky._

_Steph is still staring at the woman, mouth hung open.  It makes Bucky go cold.  The woman is approaching now, and when she speaks, Bucky can add one more thing she has on her._

_This woman is fucking British._

_“Hello, Captain,” the woman says, accent crisp and regal._

_“Agent Carter,” Steph croaks._

_Bucky is looking back and forth between the two, suddenly feeling like she is shrinking.  Who is this woman?  How does she know Steph?_

_Bucky and Steph had never, officially, gone steady.  The very idea was ludicrous.  They couldn’t even hold hands while they walked down the street if they didn’t want to get arrested for indecency or, worse, jumped and beaten within an inch of their lives.  What Bucky and Steph had had always been furtive, their own little secret, a private world.  The walls of their shitty little Brooklyn flat might as well have been the walls of their very own castle, within: their very own kingdom, paradise._

_Steph had encouraged Bucky to sign up at the War Office.  The call had gone out for young women looking to be trained in espionage.  Bucky was nothing like this woman—pristine, well-mannered, probably highly educated—but Bucky could make anyone her friend.  She might not be able to lure a Duke into her bed, but she could catch his messenger boy.  They have looser lips and lower stakes anyway.  The War Office had seemed to agree.  Bucky had been immediately selected._

_But Steph hadn’t.  Steph had been told she was “too much of a risk” and sent home.  Bucky had offered to burn her acceptance papers right then and there, but Steph had told her not to, had told her that it was alright, she knew that Bucky needed to do this, needed to serve her country._

_They had left things on uncertain terms.  In a letter Bucky had sent after her two months of training in Virginia, Bucky had told Steph that she should move on.  It had been a cowardly move.  Bucky had thought she was saving Steph, but really she was only saving herself.  Steph hadn’t responded to the letter, but when Bucky was given a week of leave before shipping out, catching a ride with the 107 th under the cover of a nurse, Steph had been cold, distant.  They had kept their space, and when Bucky had tried to apologize, take Steph out for the evening before she shipped out, Steph had slipped her and run off.  Bucky hadn’t even been able to tell Steph goodbye._

_It had eaten Bucky up.  But she hadn’t had the time to mope.  Because she was immediately deployed with a group of women, trained to decode messages and hastily taught German, French and Italian before they were just thrown out into Southern Italy.  Bucky, who had exceled at the combat training, especially the marksmanship, had been put in charge of them all.  They had operated undercover, posing as film theatre workers, getting in cozy with the Soldiers who came to their theatre to watch German propaganda films.  Bucky had had little time to be forlorn._

_But then word reached their ear, on the lips of a drunken Soldier, of the 107 th being captured, the women hadn’t been able to sit on their hands and let their boys rot in a camp.  Maybe attempting a rescue had been foolish, but they had very nearly succeeded.  Pretending to be deli workers delivering food, they had slipped into the camp in the early morning.  It was only after one of the girls got shot looking for the keys that they had been caught and imprisoned as well._

_During Bucky’s imprisonment, she had thought about Steph a lot.  A small part of her had held onto the hope of repairing things with Steph when she made it home, but when Hydra started dragging the girls one by one away from the cage, Bucky had realized that she was probably about to die.  She had passed the time imagining the letters she would send to Steph, if she could.  Then Bucky had been selected._

_With the little German that Bucky had picked up, she realized the situation.  The Germans spoke of the many “participants” who had died on their table.  They had spoken of how the Americans had discovered that “the formula” worked better on women, and how lucky were they that a group of women had fallen into their laps.  Bucky had been restrained, drugged, and then injected with something that made her entire body feel like it was on fire, pain so acute that she screamed her throat bloody, every day for twelve endless days._

_When Steph had appeared, Bucky had thought her a vision, the angel come to take her away maybe, but more likely the demon come to drag her to hell and torture her for an eternity for the way she had hurt Steph._

_But Steph had been real.  And Bucky had believed that somehow, for some reason, she was being a second chance to do things right._

_As Bucky looks at Agent Carter before her, she realizes that that chance has been ruined.  Steph has moved on.  No, Steph has_ upgraded.  _And Bucky’s been replaced._

_Bucky really has been dragged to hell._

_“Ma’am,” Bucky croaks, standing from her seat.  Carter doesn’t look at Bucky._

_“Howard has some equipment for you to try,” Agent Carter says to Steph.  “Tomorrow morning?”_

_“Sounds good,” Steph breaths._

_Agent Carter’s stare is icy.  Steph fidgets beside her and when Bucky catches a glimpse of Steph’s face, shattered and wanting as she looks at Agent Carter, Bucky can barely stop herself from bolting for the door.  So she stares at the floor and concentrates on not crying, not here, not in front of the women who view her as a leader and the men who already view her as less than._

_“I see your top squad is prepping for duty,” Agent Carter remarks, casting a glance at Bucky’s team, downing beer with the best of the boys, singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs._

_“You don’t like music?” Bucky asks, bitter.  Bucky isn’t going to just sit here and let this Brit insult her girls._

_“I do, actually.”  Carter still isn’t looking at Bucky, she’s staring at Steph.  “I might, even when this is all over, go dancing.”_

_“Then what are you waiting for?” Bucky laughs, failing to keep the sharp tone out of her voice._

_This woman still acts like Bucky isn’t there, still holds Steph’s gaze._

_“The right partner,” she replies, as if Steph had asked the question and not Bucky.  There’s no hiding the meaning to Carter’s words.  “0800, Captain.”  With that, Carter turns on her strappy, red heel and walks out._

_“Yes, ma’am,” Steph calls after her, a wide smile on her face.  Whatever that exchange was, Steph is happy about it.  “I’ll be there.”_

_Bucky is back to staring at the ground so she doesn’t have to see Steph’s face as she watches Carter leave._

_“I’m invisible,” Bucky spits, once Carter is gone.  She can’t help herself.  “I’m turning into you, it’s like a horrible dream.”  The words are cutting, hurtful, they’re meant to be.  Bucky still won’t look up at Steph.  She turns, suddenly interested with her next shot at the bar._

_Steph is_ laughing _at Bucky._

_“Don’t take it so hard,” Steph says lightly, patting Bucky on the shoulder condescendingly.  “Maybe she’s got a friend.”_

When Hydra purged Bucky of all of her memories, there were a choice few that they decided to leave behind, the ones meant to keep Bucky in line, keep the Winter Soldier in line.  If Hydra couldn’t stop the feelings that Bucky Barnes had for Stephanie Rogers, then they could try to control them.  So some memories were kept intact. 

Those memories are of all the times that Stephanie Rogers let Bucky down.

 

***

 

“No?!” Steph cries, unable to keep the outrage out of her voice.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, no,” Fury replies, finally looking up from what’s on her desk.

“I don’t understand!”

“No,” Fury repeats, “no, you, Stephanie Rogers, cannot be a SHIELD agent.”

Steph doesn’t know what to say.  She stammers for a moment before finally settling on, “Why?”

Fury sighs.

“You said your offer still stood!” Steph accuses.

Standing slowly from her desk, Fury regards Steph carefully.

“Look, Captain America helped save the world, many times over, nobody is disputing that fact,” Fury begins.  “The world owes you an unpayable debt.  And I would only be adding to that debt if I allowed you to operate under SHIELD’s directive at this time.”

“I don’t understand!” Steph practically shouts.

“Rogers,” Fury says, tone softening.  “I know you don’t think that I haven’t been keeping an eye on you.”  Steph’s stomach sinks.  “You’re spiraling,” Fury continues.  “And it’s understandable.  You’ve been through a lot since you woke up, even more before that.  Nobody thinks any less of you for it.  But every agent here must go through strict mental and emotional readiness training and approval, and _for a reason_.  It’s not an easy job.  I tried to get you to see a therapist, but you refused.  And it’s clear you are dealing with some things.  So take this time to figure your shit out.  You’ve earned your leave of absence, _take_ _it_.”

Steph huffs but has nothing to say, so she looks out the window for a long moment.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Steph says tersely, before turning and walking out without ever looking back at Fury.

In the elevator, Steph nearly breaks down.  She needs to talk to somebody, but she doesn’t know who.  All of her friends are either secret agents on secret missions or dead. 

Well, not _all_ of her friends.

Toni picks up on the second ring, loud rock music in the background and the sound of something mechanical whirring.

“This is Toni.”

“Hey, uh, Toni.  It’s Rog-it’s Steph.”

“I know, old lady, we all have caller ID now.  What’s up?”

“I-uh…”  Steph is already regretting this decision.  She’s not going to open up to Toni, she barely knows Toni.  Even if she did, Steph’s not the “talk it out” type.  “I was just thinking I’m gonna move back to New York.”

“Oh, good!” Toni replies.

“Good?”

“That’s what I said.  Good, as in something nice, awesome, pleasing,” Toni lists.  She likes to list.

“I know what good means, Toni,” Steph interrupts, tone annoyed.

“Ok.  I don’t know how you old-timey folk speak.”  Toni pauses as if waiting for a laugh.  “But, yeah, good.  Amazon Tower is almost finished.  You can move in tomorrow, if you don’t mind a few sweating workmen in the kitchen.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well come on, what did you think I meant when I said I was turning Stark Tower into Amazon Tower?” Toni asks.  “It’s a headquarters.  You know a super cool chill pad where super heroes live together and have movie nights and pillow fights, lingerie highly encouraged.”

“I don’t…”  But Toni is still going.

“Your floor is almost finished.”

“My floor?”

“What, one floor not enough for you?  I know you’re a big girl, Steph, but sheesh, leave a little for the rest of us.”

“Toni, that’s insane.  I can’t-…I can’t move into Stark Tower.”

“ _Amazon_ Tower,” Toni corrects.  “And why not?”

Steph goes to speak but finds her mind blank.  She can’t think of a reason why not.  In fact, this might be a blessing.  She was already hanging out there all the time when she was in New York.  Maybe it would do her good to be around Toni’s manic energy and Jen’s calming one.  Maybe this was meant to be.  Steph doesn’t really believe in those kinds of things, but this does have perfect timing.

“Alright,” Steph says.

“Alright?  Alright as in….”

“Alright, I’ll move into your big, ugly Tower.  But give me like…a week, okay?”

“Okay, hope you like clowns, I decorated your bedroom with them.  Glow in the dark.  Bye!” Toni hangs up.

 

“Who was that?” Jen calls, dropping the circular saw in her hands and shoving her googles up.

Toni is _skipping_ , literally, over to Jen.

“We have our first tenant, Jenny,” Toni says, sing song.  Jen gives Toni a bored look, Toni knows she hates it when she calls Jen “Jenny.”

“So…I extrapolate that that was Steph on the phone.”

“You extrapolate your ass, Doctor!”

Toni’s been in a frenzied mood lately.  She works on the Tower more than the workman even do, adding “personal touches” (that’s her excuse at least, though Jen knows it probably has something to do with Toni’s trust issues and insomnia) all night long while blasting rock and roll.  Jen guesses it’s a “if you build it, they will come” kind of idea.  Even though Jen really isn’t sure that they’ll come.  Toni has added a personal floor for everyone though.  And, apparently, now Rogers is moving in.  Maybe Toni is right.

“When?” Jen asks.

“Next week.”

It will be nice to have some more company, Jen was actually finding herself missing Steph’s visits.  Toni’s high strung mood that she is constantly in helps bring Jen out of the deep lows that she reaches.  But Jen needs the distraction.  Pepper is only around so often and, when she is, she and Toni spend the entire time in their bedroom having _exceptionally_ loud sex.

Right now, Jen and Toni are working on a prototype bow for Hawkeye that can be re-outfitted into a staff that carries 9,000 volts of electricity for when she, inevitably, runs out of arrows.  Of course, the arrow solution is coming next, but it’s still a nice upgrade and could come in handy for close quarter combat.  Jen glances down at the mold for the core in her hand.

She has to be honest with herself, Jen’s really enjoying living with Toni.  It’s nice to not be on the run, to have a lab, to be back at work.  Every few days, they dive into theoretical microphysics and atomic biology, looking for a cure for Jen, or at least a mode of control.  Toni hadn’t been lying when she told Jen that she could fix the heart rate problem.  An injection every day keeps Jen’s heart rate below 60 bpm, and helps her keep a level head, while not hindering her systems.  After much insistence, Jen had even agreed to testing it and it worked.  The weight that was taken off of Jen’s shoulders at that had been _astounding_.

But Jen would be lying to herself if she thought that the only perks were the lab and the research.  Because being around Toni Stark is contagious.  It puts a smile on Jen’s face every single day, waking up to the prospect of getting into the lab with Toni.  Right now, across the room, Toni is trying to teach Butterfingers to air-guitar.  Jen can’t help but laugh and tell Toni just how ridiculous she is being.

There are feelings in Jen’s heart that she can’t clamp down on and, as she watches Toni chastise Butterfingers for being offbeat, that feeling blooms through Jen’s chest. 

Jen knows she should make a move.  She had walked on eggshells with her feelings at first for a number of reasons.  First, and most importantly, Jen couldn’t get excited because it would get her heart rate too high.  But now, Jen had done some “testing” of her own and had found release in the first time in _years_ and nothing had happened afterwards except that she had laid on her back with a goofy smile on her face for thirty minutes, basking in the sensation.  Second, Toni had a girlfriend.  But Toni had solved that problem for Jen also by dropping _numerous_ hints that she and Pepper were in an open relationship, what with them being a gorgeous power couple who jetset across the world all the time and all.

So now Jen was out of excuses.  The only thing that was stopping her was herself and her own fear of happiness.  But that fear was debilitating.  Because Jen felt, no she _knew_ that if she ever let herself be truly happy, it would all just be ripped away. 

“You hungry?  I got you the pumpkin ravioli you like,” Toni calls, pulling Jen from her own thoughts.  Jen doesn’t bother to ask from where, because Toni is constantly producing things out of thin air.  “In the kitchen,” Toni adds and then she’s striding away, out the door of the lab.

Jen rolls her eyes before getting up to follow her.  Toni is already pouring two glasses of what is probably some insanely priced vintage wine when Jen gets to the kitchen.  There’s music on in here, always music, but it isn’t as loud as the music in the lab.  The sight of the ravioli makes Jen’s mouth water, so she quickly sits down, yanking off her glasses so she can dig in.

“Mmmmm,” Jen moans, wrapping her lips around the fork.

“Well, now, that was downright lustful,” Toni laughs, digging into her own meal.  “But I echo your sentiments.”

Toni is a vision.  Her dark hair is falling from the messy bun at the nape of her neck.  She’s in a grease-stained tank top with nothing underneath and a pair of torn jeans that Jen guesses were custom-made.  She’s been barefoot all day, even when Jen told her that she should put on closed toe shoes when there are sparks flying.  Her face has streaks of sealant smudged across it from where she had wiped her head while she worked.  But her eyes are alive with light, especially now that she’s finally been vindicated and Rogers is going to move in.  From between her lips, her devil’s tongue flickers out to catch a drop of wine that’s running down one of the crystal glasses that she throws around casually like they don’t cost about $500 a piece. 

Jen is still staring at Toni’s mouth when Toni laughs and says, “What you staring at, Banner?  I usually charge admission for a show like that.”

Jen’s eyes drop back to her meal and she tries to laugh it off, uncomfortable.  But Toni won’t let her.

“Out with it, Jenny.”

Jen rolls her eyes and glances up at Toni.  Her chocolate eyes are on Toni’s face, pupils blown wide, and her chin is rested on the palm of her hand as she leans towards Jen like she’s an equation that Toni’s about to solve.

“Nothing-you just…don’t want you to break another one of you glasses,” Jen mumbles.

“My, I’d have to have one hell of a tongue to break glass with it.”  And impish grin spreads across Toni’s face.  “What exactly is it that you think I get into with my mouth?”

Jen huffs.  This isn’t the first time Toni has teased Jen like this, but it’s getting a bit harder to just let it roll off of her shoulder. 

“Toni,” Jen groans, unsure of what else to say or do.  Toni just laughs, leaning back because apparently she’s won this round.  “You’re a tease,” Jen adds, and immediately regrets it.

“It’s not teasing if you plan to follow through,” Toni points out with a wink.

“ _Toni!_ ”

“What?”

Jen meets Toni’s gaze again, just as mischievous as ever.

“I don’t-“ Jen tries.  “I can’t…”

“Can’t what, Banner?”

“I can’t… _do_ that, with you.”  Jen knows how pathetic she sounds, trust her, she knows.  

“Aw, why not?  Afraid the big green guy will come out?  I bet he likes it rough.”

Jen jumps to her feet, shoving away from the table.  “Don’t,” she warns.  Toni sits up straight, all of her fight gone.

“I’m going back to the lab,” Jen mutters, turning before Toni can protest.  But of course she does anyway.

“Come on, Jen!” Toni calls after her.  But Jen isn’t turning back.  She storms back to the lab before she realizes that Toni could just chase her here.  So she keeps going to the elevator, taking it down to “her” floor.  At least there she can lock the door. 

The floor is still unfinished.  The living room area is empty, as are a lot of the auxiliary rooms.  Jen is supposed to decide what she wants done with them, but she’s been holding it off, always still sure that she’ll have to run.  She can’t settle anywhere, get too comfortable.

Why would Toni joke like that?  Well, Jen knows why.  Toni jokes like that all the time.  The woman is incapable of taking anything seriously, not even the darkest part of Jen’s life.  It’s just so fucking _disrespectful_.

Out of habit, Jen checks her wrist for a monitor that is no longer there.  She’s itching to throw herself into an ice bath, even though she knows she doesn’t need it.  Toni’s formula works.

And that’s another thing!  How dare Toni hold that over her head to keep her around?  Not that Toni has ever told Jen that she wouldn’t give her the injections if she ever decides to leave, but that’s just one more thing that’s keeping Jen here when she should be halfway across the world.  And that’s Toni’s M.O., isn’t it?  Finding ways to make herself _needed_ by people.  Jen’s not an idiot, she knows enough about the human psyche, she learned plenty in her attempt to control her changes.  She knows that Toni needs the validation of being necessary.  Toni might not recognize it, but Jen sure as hell does.

Jen’s tearing off her clothes and jumping into the shower before she notices what she is doing.  She turns on the water as cold as it will go and stands absolutely still until her teeth start to chatter.  She stays under the stream, fuming, but calming down.  She knows it’s unfair to blame Toni for her own unresolved issues, a handful of which Jen is certain are a direct result from what took place in July.  Toni’s been nothing but helpful and giving and kind and has never asked for anything in return.

It’s Jen who is the piece of shit for not appreciating it.  She’s the broken, twisted _thing_ that can’t help but look a gift horse in the mouth.

And around and around Jen goes on the terrible-go-round of her thoughts, bouncing back and forth from blaming Toni to hating herself.  Just because she recognizes those thought patterns in herself doesn’t mean she can do anything about them.  Hell, that almost makes it worse because she _knows_ she’s fucked up beyond repair. 

Jen is broken.  And she spends most of her time shoving other people away so she can wallow in her own loneliness.

When she falls asleep in the shower, JARVIS turns off the water and begins to heat the bathroom before he calls Toni to report on Jen’s whereabouts.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut coming in the next chapter!


	7. A Day in the Life of: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: depression, anxiety, panic attacks, flashbacks, disassociation, violence (mentioned), nightmares  
> Basically all the angst.
> 
> Toni makes her move on Jen. Natasha has a nightmare. Steph sees a therapist and it doesn't go very well.

It’s a normal day for Toni Stark.  She wakes up at 3:13 am, twisted in sweat drenched sheets.  The nightmare she was having is quickly slipping from Toni’s mind like sand, but she knows well enough by now not to try to catch them.  She doesn’t want to remember. 

Instead of dwell, she pushes herself up out of bed.  She’s naked and shivering, so she tugs on some sweats before she finds her way to the elevator.   

Central Park isn’t empty, it’s never empty, but it’s as close to empty as it ever gets at this hour.  Toni is still struggling with an ankle injury from what the media had dubbed “The Battle of New York.”  Toni isn’t a super soldier, and she’s not young anymore, so injuries take a long time to heal.  The Iron Woman suit helps support damaged body parts, but Toni isn’t running in the Iron Woman suit.  She’s already enough of a spectacle, just being Toni Stark.  Toni keeps the hood of her jacket up as she runs, trying to keep the limp out of her step.

“Long Live the Chief” is playing in Toni’s ears on repeat when the mugger approaches.  Typical derelict, hiding in the bushes waiting for the right passerby.  He’s got a knife and Toni actually laughs.

“You must not watch a lot of news,” Toni sneers once her heel is pressed to the side of the guy’s face, his right arm wrenched behind his back.  “I’m keeping this,” Toni adds, pocketing the laughably small knife.  Was this guy for real?

She can’t stop herself from wrenching back the extra inch.  The guy screams pathetically when his shoulder pops out of its socket.

By the time Jen wakes up, Toni has finished the specialized tech installation on Rogers’ floor.  Toni is buzzing with so much energy that when Jen ambles into the kitchen, eyes downcast, Toni almost forgets what had happened the night before.

“I’m sorry,” Jen mumbles miserably before Toni has the chance to say anything.

“For what?” Toni asks, sliding Jen a plate of eggs and bacon to where she’s slumped over in her bathrobe.  Jen doesn’t look up, just waves her hand vaguely at nothing in indication as if that explains it.  “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Toni says quickly, uncharacteristically serious for the moment.  “Look, I’m a dick.  I know.  Believe me.  I know.”  Toni tries to not be too self-deprecating right now because she just can’t go down that path, not after the thoughts that had been circling around her head during her run.  “I don’t stop when I should.  I’ll cut it out.  Flirting with you.”

“No!” Jen cries suddenly, looking up.

“No?” Toni asks, confused.

“No, I-…I don’t mind it, really Toni.  I-I want…I want those kinds of things.”  Jen is staring at her hands now, face going red.  “I miss it, honestly.  I just…need time to get used to it, feeling like that.”

Toni leans forward so she’s resting her weight on her forearms on the table, trying to catch Jen’s eye.  She waits until the silence becomes so awkward that Jen has to look up.

“Okay,” Toni promises.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, you dummy.  I like your company,” Toni says.  Jen smiles a bit.  “And I love looking at your ass across the lab,” Toni adds with a wink.  That gets Jen laughing. 

Tension broken, Jen picks up her fork and digs into her breakfast.  Toni launches into her plans for the day.  The workmen are coming to put the finishing touches on the essential rooms on Steph’s floor and Toni wants to oversee it.  But after lunch, she and Jen can get back into dissecting the theoretical research on neurobiology of Doctor Sarah Strange.  Jen and Toni had started into it last week, expecting to get through it in a matter of hours.  But it turns out the woman’s a genius, and that’s coming from Toni.  For the first time in a very very long time, Toni had felt out of her depths, reading Doctor Strange’s papers.  Even Jen, a doctor, was having some difficulty with it.  So they had given themselves some assigned reading and agreed to look into it the following week.  They had both been incredibly hopeful with the applications in Jen’s case. 

Jen tells Toni that she is going to the library while Toni goes down to Steph’s floor so that she can get a head start.  Toni is fine with that.  Because, at the end of the day, Toni is an engineer.  Reality follows rules, no matter the subject, so some cross-assumptions can be made, but Toni knows that this isn’t her area of expertise, it’s Jen’s. 

For lunch, Toni decides to take her Lamborghini to her favorite spot.  Jen decides to stay in the library and have food delivered, so Toni gets to go stag.  She hasn’t been to Il Migliore in almost a year, and they have a Cioppino to _die_ for. 

The valet’s eyes go wide when he sees Toni climbing out of the butterfly doors.

“Ms. Stark,” he gasps.  Toni flashes a Toni Stark grin before tucking a $100 bill into the kid’s shirt pocket and tossing him the keys.

“Try not to ding her up on the joy ride,” she says, striding past the kid.

The host offers Toni her usual table in the VIP area, but when Toni looks at the table and at the tables around it, she has a momentary panic attack.

“Can I have that one?” Toni asks, pointing to the table in the corner.  The host, obviously, says yes and Toni seats herself in the chair closest to both walls, checking the exits without realizing what she’s doing.  The chef comes out to greet Toni and asks if she wants her normal order.  Of course Toni does.

The Cioppino tastes a bit dull today.

When Toni is polishing off her last glass of wine, there is a commotion up front.  Suddenly, a man with a camera comes bounding up the stairs.

“Ms. Stark!” he shouts.  Toni is on her feet before he reaches the table.  The flash of the camera makes her jump.  “Do you have any comments about what the renovations at Stark Tower are about?”

The camera flashes again and Toni feels her heart rate spike.  Luckily, a moment later the host is grabbing the guy by the shirt and telling him he’s not allowed up here.  The guy snaps a few more pictures as he is wrangled out of the building with threats to call the police.  Toni yanks two $100 bills out of her wallet and drops them on the table before making a hasty retreat out the back door.

Bad move.

The paparazzi shout and hold mics in her face.  She’s taken aback, the crowd pressing in on her, the flashes of a camera.

 _The flash of an explosion_.

“Stark!  Where has Miss Potts been recently?!”

_“Shall I try Miss Potts?” JARVIS asks.  “Might as well,” Toni responds breathlessly._

“Might as well what, Toni?”

A hand lands on her shoulder.  _The Chitauri shrieks.  Toni turns, grabbing its arm and spinning to throw it to the ground._

A gasp.  The reporter cries out in pain as his head hits the pavement.  More clamoring.

Flashes.  _Explosions.  Soundless explosions._ “Stark!  Stark!” _“Stark, you know that’s a one way trip?” Steph asks.  Toni’s suit powers down and she’s falling.  She’s dying._   

Toni shoves her way through the crowd.  She can’t breathe.  She can’t even think straight.  She’s stumbling, unsure where she is.  All that she knows is that she’s running and there are people following her.

“JARVIS,” Toni gasps.  “Get the car.”

When the Lamborghini slides to a stop beside Toni, she almost cries in relief.  The passenger side door opens and Toni collapses in.  More flashes.

_I’m going to die.  I’m never going to see Pepper again._

“JARVIS, call Pepper!” Toni sobs.  The car is pulling away, the buildings slip by in a blur of color that Toni can’t make out through the tears in her eyes.

“Toni?” Pepper asks.

“Pep,” Toni cries.  “Thank god!”

“Toni, what’s going on?”

Toni is crying.  She can’t remember why.  She wants to tell Pepper that she’s about to die.

“I love you,” Toni settles on.

“I love you too, Toni.”  There’s worry in Pepper’s voice.  It shakes Toni out of her own head for a moment.  Why is Pepper worried?  Toni sits up.  She’s in a car, her car, JARVIS is driving.  Toni glances at the destination on the console, Amazon Tower.  Toni is terrified and she can’t remember why.

“Nothing,” Toni breathes.  “I-I just thought I should tell you that.”

“Toni, where are you?”

“I’m…” Toni wets her lips, “I’m just heading home.  I had some lunch.  I-I just wanted to tell you that.”

“Are you alright?”

Is she alright?  Toni doesn’t think so but she can’t remember why.

“Yeah, babe.  I’m fine…I will be fine.  Nothing is going on.  I’m sorry to interrupt you.  I-…I just wanted to say I love you,” Toni says, wiping away tears on her cheek that she doesn’t remember shedding.

“Okay, Toni.  Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.  Everything is peachy.  Just…go back to what you were doing.”

For the rest of the ride, Toni just stays slumped against the door, exhausted for no reason.  By the time she gets back to Amazon Tower, she’s swinging the other way.

“Let’s get this party started,” Toni announces, striding into the library.  Jen glances at her over her glasses and immediately her brow furrows.  She studies Toni for a long moment.

“You doing okay, Toni?” Jen asks cautiously.

“More than okay, Jenny.  Just ready to get this show on the road.  What have you figured out?”

Jen regards her doubtfully for a long moment, but apparently lets it go, because she launches into her understanding of Strange’s work. 

That evening at dinner, Jen glances at Toni nervously.

“So, uhm,” she begins weakly.  “Pepper called me today while you were in the lab.”

“What?” Toni asks, eyes narrowing suspiciously.  “What does she have to call you about?”

Jen chews on her cheek for a moment.

“She said you called her today after lunch sounding…upset,” Jen settles on, because that’s not the word Pepper had used.

“I’m not upset,” Toni replies lightly.

“Well…I saw this.”

Jen slides a tablet across the table.  The video is pretty telling.  Toni slams a paparazzi to the ground.  Toni winces.

“He was getting handsy,” Toni says, sliding the table back across the table.

“He’s in the hospital, Toni.  You’re lucky he’s not pressing charges.”

“Whoa whoa whoa.”  Toni throws up her hands defensively.  “ _He_ touched _me_ first.”

“Well he’s not pressing charges.  But what the hell is that?”

Toni rolls her eyes.

“Just a-some minor claustrophobia, that’s all,” she explains, trying for casual but failing.

“Toni, I know you don’t have claustrophobia.  Someone with claustrophobia doesn’t spend most of their time in an iron suit.”

“It’s not actually iron, despite the name, it’s actually a gold-“

“Toni!” Jen interrupts. 

“ _Jenny_!” Toni mocks.  “It was nothing.  I don’t want to talk about it, alright.”

Jen continues to press, but Toni wasn’t lying.  She’s done talking about it.  Eventually, Jen sighs heavily and they continue their meal in silence until Toni asks if Jen wants to keep working after dinner.  Jen agrees and twenty minutes later, they’re in the lab.

Toni is in the middle of scrolling through the pages of a report, rattling off randomly with theoretical assumptions when Jen comes around the other side of the screen and turns it off, leaving nothing but transparent glass between them.

“Toni,” Jen begins.  Toni really hopes she’s not about to start again on the conversation Toni had hoped they had left at dinner.  “I just want to let you know how much I…appreciate all of this.  Everything you’ve done for me, everything you’re _doing_ for me.”  Jen drops her eyes nervously.  “I really-…I’m really glad I came here with you.”

Jen glances up, a vulnerable look in her wide brown eyes.  She’s in an oversized knit sweater and she looks like she’s downing in it.  Toni thinks she suddenly looks so small, something Toni never would have thought she would see on Dr. Jennifer Banner, the Hulk.  Jen pulls a pink lip between her teeth and begins to chew on it, waiting uncertainly for Toni to reply.

Toni is feeling frantic, feverish.  She has been for a while, ever since July really.  She never has a filter or any semblance of restraint, but usually she is aware of how strident she is.  But, of late, that awareness has weakened.  Toni has moments where she feels that she truly loses control of herself.  A heat rises from her core and her body goes numb and she can’t stop herself from whatever it is that she does.  This is one of those moments.

Reaching up to shove the screen out of the way, Toni closes the space between her and Jen and grabs her face, kissing her hard.  At first, Jen goes rigid in Toni’s hold, but eventually she relaxes and opens her mouth for Toni to kiss into.  Toni is agitated and desperate, hands going to roam across Jen’s body.  But Jen is being slow and careful, hands uncertain when they land on Toni’s waist and stay anchored there.  Eventually, Jen begins to kiss back, and Toni takes it as encouragement.

For a sudden moment, Toni falls back into herself, and she pulls her face away.

“Are you alright with this?” Toni asks, not opening her eyes until she feels Jen nod slightly.

“Yes, _please_.”  Jen sounds as desperate at Toni feels, and Toni watches her kiss bruised lips as they whisper that plea.  The fever overtakes Toni once more. 

Toni ducks, getting her hands on Jen’s thighs and lifting her off the ground as she leans back in to resume kissing her.  Jen squeaks in surprise at first, but doesn’t protest.  Toni moves forwards a few steps so that she can set Jen on the edge of the nearby desk, pausing only to shove a pile of papers and parts clattering to the floor. 

Jen is gasping, panting into Toni’s mouth, her tongue tracing Toni’s teeth before diving further.  Toni bites Jen’s lip.

“Ow!” Jen cries, reaching up to wipe the blood away.  “Not a smart move Toni.”

Toni laughs but doesn’t say anything, lunging forward to resume kissing Jen.  She kisses her way down along Jen’s jaw, one hand tangling in her black hair and pulling to expose her neck.  As Toni licks down Jen’s neck, her other hand finds the edge of the sweater, pushing underneath and immediately reaches upward, grabbing Jen’s breast in her palm.  For her part, Jen seems to be breathing heavily through her nose.     

“Jen,” Toni groans.  “ _Relax_.  It’s alright.  Trust my formula.  Just enjoy yourself.”

Jen nods mutely so Toni resumes kissing her, feeling Jen’s muscles relax little by little.  Small victories. 

Toni releases Jen’s hair, leaning back, smiling a little when Jen chases Toni’s mouth with her eyes closed.  With both hands, Toni lifts the sweater up, Jen lifting her arms a bit to allow her.  When Toni dives back in, Jen’s legs go tight around Toni’s waist, crossing behind her back to pull her back aggressively.  Toni laughs.

“Jenny, Jenny,” Toni mutters.  Jen _growls._

“You didn’t think I’ve always been this quivering, quiet little thing, did you?” Jen asks, tucking her chin in a challenge and meeting Toni’s eyes.  Jen’s pupils are blown, her hair a mess, a flush coloring her entire face, chest heaving.  She looks hot as fuck, if Toni can be frank.  Toni leans back in and nips Jen’s lips.

“Of course not,” Toni says against Jen’s lips.  “I knew all it took was the right,” Toni plunges her hands down the front of Jen’s yoga pants, “ _coaxing._ ”  Jen throws her head back, a sharp intake of air making her shudder.

Toni’s left hand goes back to Jen’s hair as she bends to take Jen’s nipple between her teeth, drawing and lapping at it, alternating between quick, gentle bites and sucking it into her mouth.  Jen is making high pitched, breathy sounds in her throat, head still back, eyes closed because Toni has started working her other hand.  She teases at first, rubbing along Jen’s labium slowly.  Toni shifts to Jen’s other nipple, going a little harder at it to hear Jen hiss. 

Toni uses the hand in Jen’s hair to tug back suddenly, making Jen lean.  Off balanced, Toni puts a hand on Jen’s chest and shoves her down all the way so that she’s on her back against the desk.  More office supplies go clattering to the floor.  Jen’s own hands search for purchase along the edges of the tabletop as Toni bends down to kiss along the warm skin of her abdomen.  Toni pauses at the edge of Jen’s yoga pant, pulling her right hand out and looking up.  Jen lifts her head to fix Toni with a questioning look.

“You’ll let me know how you like it, won’t you sweetheart?” Toni asks, voice low.

Jen nods frantically, not dropping Toni’s gaze.  Toni grins.  “Good,” she purrs.  Jen drops her head back down with a _thunk_ and Toni grabs the edges of the sweatpants, tugging them all the way off and watching the goosebumps the rise along Jen’s skin at the sudden exposure with fascination.  Toni leans back down, one hand reaching for Jen’s ankle and pulling it up and putting her bare foot on the edge of the table.  Toni drops to her knees and begins to mouth along the inside of Jen’s thigh.  Jen is going back to the breathy gasps.

Toni feels like her every nerve is on fire.  Beneath her hands, Jen is writhing.  Toni bites gently into the skin of her thigh before diving forward and putting her mouth on her.  She runs her tongue along Jen’s slit, where she is dripping wet.

“Mmm,” Toni sighs.  “Jenny, you taste _delicious_.”

Jen laughs, broken and uncertain for a moment but it’s interrupted by a sharp gasp when Toni’s tongue finds her clit.  Toni starts slow, long licks with the flat on her tongue.  Jen’s hands are scrambling again, palms sweaty and slipping on the smooth edges of the table.  The light, breathy noises are being replaced by longer, lower groans of pleasure.  Toni speeds up, using the tip on her tongue to draw patterns over Jen’s clit, her eyes on her breasts where her chest is heaving.  She reaches up, one hand landing with a smack.

Toni closes her eyes and goes deeper, tongue dipping into Jen’s pussy as her fingers blindly find Jen’s abused nipple.

“Ahh _Toni_!” Jen shouts, back arching off the table.  Toni takes that as permission to dip her tongue in again before pulling back.

“I thought you said you would tell me how you like it,” Toni chastises, pinching Jen’s nipple harder.

“ _Uh_!” Jen gasps.  She licks her lips and swallows.  “Uhm…I’m pretty, _ah_ , happy with what you’re doing.”  Toni leans forward again, finding Jen’s clit once more.  Jen shudders.  “ _Yes_.  Like that.  That’s good.  But…uhm…can you, ah, ah, use your fingers?”

Toni grins against Jen and purrs, causing Jen to spasm just as Toni works a finger inside of her.  The leg still hung off the table tenses, pulling Jen off the table a bit more. 

“You like that?” Toni growls.

Jen nods frantically so Toni turns her palm upward and starts to make a come hither motion, rubbing along Jen’s G-spot.  Jen practically screams.  Toni remembers that she has another hand, so she reaches across to the other nipple and begins to ghost her fingers over it.

“ _More, more, more, more, more, more_ ,” Jen pleads, voice sounding wrecked.

Toni pushes a second finger in and Jen arches off the table again and moans so lustfully that it gives Toni chills. 

“ _Faster_ ,” Jen demands, so Toni begins to pump her fingers in and out of Jen, running the pads of her fingers along Jen’s G-spot every time.  She also begins to suck hard at Jen’s clit.  When Toni adds her third finger, Jen _screams_ and cums, spasming around Toni’s fingers.  Toni slows her fingers down, licking along her own knuckles as Jen shakes, working through her orgasm.  When Jen finally settle back against the table, Toni laughs, standing and wiping her mouth.  Jen’s blissed out eyes watch Toni from the table.

Toni crawls along Jen’s body, putting her knees on the table on either side of Jen’s body, and she kisses Jen hungrily, letting Jen taste herself.  Jen’s arm slings around Toni’s shoulders, holding Toni to her while she lifts up to kiss her enthusiastically.

“Good?” Toni asks when Jen finally lets her pull away.

Jen’s eyes are still screwed shut when she nods.

“Good.”

Toni runs her knuckles along Jen’s body as she comes down.  When Jen finally opens her eyes, she looks up at Toni.

“Do you want me to-“ Jen begins, but Toni is shaking her head.  She doesn’t know what, she’s never been one to turn down an orgasm. But for some reason, Toni feels exhausted.  Probably the long day finally catching up to her.

“No…no it’s fine,” Toni mumbles.

“I’m sorry that was so…brief.  First time in a while,” Jen says, dropping her gaze to the ceiling behind Toni’s head.

“No, it’s alright.  Just…” Toni glances up at Jen but can’t hold her gaze, looking back down at where Toni’s fingers are still running along Jen’s skin.  “…just, will you stay with me tonight?”  It’s vulnerable, and that’s not Toni’s style.  She doesn’t know why she’s asking, she just knows she’s relieved when Jen says yes.

When they get up from the table, Jen goes to collect the scattered papers, but Toni tells her to leave them.  Jen does grab her sweater, pulling it on and then following Toni to the elevator.  Toni slings an arm around Jen’s shoulder and when the elevator doors shut, Jen pushes Toni against the railing of the elevator and kisses her deeply.

 “Thank you,” Jen breaths against Toni’s lips.

Curled around Jen, her steady breathing slowing into slumber, Toni’s sleep is dreamless for the first time in months.

 

***

_It’s a normal day for Natalia.  At 0500, she awakes.  The Madam walks from bed to bed, unlocking the handcuff the keeps each girl in bed.  Natalia had learned to pick handcuffs years ago, they all had.  But it was force of habit now.  A daily routine is important.  There are not many girls left in Natalia’s class, she is one of five.  She is in the thirteenth year.  Widows are deployed at year fourteen._

_Upstairs, Natalia is given rations.  Today, they are given a large breakfast, so Natalia knows the training will be punishing.  Before this current training cycle, the girls had been disciplining their bodies to function on less than 500 calories per day.  So the large breakfast is nice._

_After breakfast is warmups.  The warmups lately have been three hours of ballet training.  “Grace and beauty are important tools in a Widow’s arsenal,” the Madam had said.  When the thirteenth year Widows are ushered out of the room, a younger class of girls enters.  They look to be about year eleven.  There are fourteen of them.  They keep their eyes straight ahead when they file in._

_Usually, after warm up, the Widows are taken to the sparing room for hours of hand to hand combat.  But today, they are taken outside to the courtyard.  There are men in black uniforms with large weapons standing at attention near the back gate.  Natalia and the other girls line up, backs straight, perfect posture, eyes forward._

_“Widows,” the Madam begins, striding along the line looking for imperfections, “today we will begin highly specialized hand to hand combat training.  Those Widows who pass this training will be rewarded.”  The Madam doesn’t have to add what will happen to the Widows who don’t pass this training landmark._

_The door to the garden swings open and a woman strides in.  Natalia keeps her eyes forward, but she watches through her peripherals.  The woman is menacing—tall and muscular, dressed in all black, lank brown hair falling wildly around her face, and her left arm has been replaced with a cybernetic prosthetic that shines silver, contrast against the dark of the woman’s clothing.  The woman is silent, she makes no noise as she strides forward, flanked by Hydra soldiers on either side.  She comes to rest in front of the Widows and looks right at Natalia._

_The woman’s eyes are empty and cold.  There is nothing but the reflection of the Widows in them.  Those eyes bore into Natalia.  Natalia has never been allowed to feel fear, but she feels fear now._

_Except Natalia is not in the garden at the Red Room Hydra training facility anymore, now she’s in Odessa.  There is blood running down her front, her blood.  Behind her, a scientist hits the ground, dead.  Natalia looks up and is staring into those same cold, empty eyes.  The Soldier looks at Natalia, a flash of recognition in her frigid stare.  Natalia is sure she is about to die.  The Soldier didn’t kill her all those years ago, but she had killed every other Widow in her class.  Perhaps now she will finish the job._

Natasha gasps, eyes flying open.  She rarely dreams, but when she does, they are nightmares.  Beside her, Clara glances down.

 _You alright?_ Clara signs.  Natasha nods.

 _Just a bad dream,_ she signs back, _want me to take watch?_

Clara considers it for a moment but eventually pulls herself up from the gunnery position they’ve created.  Clara knows better than to ask Natasha what the dream was about.  They both have their fair share of demons, neither of them need to swap stories.  But when Natasha grabs her sniper rifle and climbs into the gunnery position as Clara begins to bed down, she can’t help her mind from wandering.

Natasha has not thought about the Winter Solider is many years.  The Soldier had trained her in her thirteenth year at the Red Room for three months, and Natasha had known it was the Soldier who was pursuing her through the desert all those years later.  She hadn’t needed to look into the Soldier’s cold, dead eyes again to recognize her style.  In the Red Room, very little had frightened Natasha, but the Winter Soldier had been vicious, even for that place.  When Natasha was the only one to best the Soldier in a fight for her life, she had been taken to the lab and told she was being given an injection that would help make her as strong as the Solider as reward for completing the training.  Natasha had screamed and begged not to have it done.  She might have been a cold-hearted assassin, but she knew that the Soldier was a walking dead woman, a puppet on a string.  And Natasha hadn’t wanted to become like her.

The injection had made Natasha stronger and faster.  It had also made her barren, more complacent, more susceptible to the brainwashing that came shortly after.  And it had made her into a weapon to be sold to the highest bidder.  The only thing that had kept Natasha from turning into the Winter Soldier then was that the KGB weren’t as good at upkeep on human weapons as Hydra was.  Eventually the programming had weakened and Natasha had escaped.

Being a mind slave had been the worst years of Natasha’s life.  For a long while, Natasha had wondered if the Winter Soldier had once been a Widow herself.  Once she was free, she had thought often of the Winter Solider and all the other Widows over the years who had been given the injection.  If they were lucky, they were all dead. 

Why Natasha is having this dream after so many years, she doesn’t know.  But she isn’t going to analyze it any longer.  She settles her face behind the scope and forces her mind to go quiet.

 

***

 

It’s a normal day for Steph.  She wakes up at 0600 to start her workout.  She’s been living in the Amazon Tower for nearly two weeks and she has to admit that it has its perks.  One such perk is the running track on the third floor.  Steph runs laps for an hour, not bothering to keep track of the distance she covers.  By the time she’s done, she hasn’t broken a sweat, so she goes back up to her own floor to go to her private gym.  That’s another perk.  There’s a communal gym and sparing room on the fourth floor, but Steph likes the specialized equipment that Toni had installed on her floor.  The equipment on the third floor has max weights that are just too low for Steph to feel like she’s getting any kind of workout.  And the punching bag on her floor is reinforced, which is fantastic because it means she doesn’t have to keep buying punching bags and finding ways to get them into the Tower.

At 0830, Steph goes up to Toni’s floor.  The only occupants of the Tower are Steph, Toni and Jen (and Pepper when she’s around), and they’ve fallen into the habit of having breakfast together.  It’s nice because Steph can’t cook for shit, and Toni is a surprisingly good chef. 

“Cooking is all chemistry!” Toni had explained one day.

Today, the menu is eggs benedict and fruit.  Toni has also gotten used to cooking up a pound of bacon and half a dozen eggs on top of the normal meal for Steph.  Steph’s metabolism is so high that she has to consume nearly 5000 calories in a day.  Sometimes, it can get annoying, constantly having to eat.  But, even when Steph was a tiny thing, she _loved_ to eat.  So Toni slides the Franks Red Hot that Steph has learned that she fucking loves so she can douse her second breakfast in it while Toni and Jen geek out over whatever it is they are going to get up to in the lab today.

Steph can’t stick around long to chat, she has somewhere she has to be.  So she promises to be home by 1700 because Toni has insisted that Steph _must_ watch the Star Wars saga.  Steph hadn’t complained because that’s something that she’s been told a few times since coming out of the ice.  And she already has a list of such things, so she’s glad she’ll be able to actually cross something off instead of adding to the already two page list.

Driving around New York City these days is an absolute nightmare, so she takes one of Toni’s more modest vehicles so that JARVIS can drive.  She never thought that she would ever think something like this, but that robot or whatever he is (“JARVIS is just a really very intelligent system,” Toni had said with a smirk that didn’t help Steph’s understanding at all) is growing on Steph.

“Captain Rogers,” JARVIS greets when Steph gets into the car.  “Are we keeping to the itinerary today?”

JARVIS, somehow, keeps track of all of their schedules.  It had made Steph a little uncomfortable at first, but then JARVIS had reminded her of a meeting she had forgotten about one day and Steph had felt a little better about it. 

“Uh, yeah, JARVIS.”

JARVIS turns on big band music, which is another thing that endures Steph to him, and they pull out of the underground garage.  Steph leans back and tries not to let herself freak out.

Because today, after Fury’s insistence, Steph is going to see a therapist.  She’s trying hard not to be nervous about it.  May had told her that it wasn’t anything to be afraid of, that May herself had been to _plenty_ of therapists.  So Steph is trying not to be afraid.  But she _really_ doesn’t want to crack open her own head and see what’s inside, let alone do that in front of someone else.

The office is in one of New York’s many high rises.  When Steph gets inside, the place is empty.  At first she starts to panic a bit about that, but then she remembers that the receptionist had promised absolute privacy, that nobody with cameras would be there.  It had been one of the selling points, actually.  So Steph calms down.  When Steph steps up to the high desk, she goes to give the woman her ID card, but the receptionist just waves her hand.

“Oh no, dear, I know who you are.”  The receptionist chuckles a bit to herself.  “Dr. Lidik is ready to see you now, if you’d follow me.”

Dr. Lidik is a small woman, with long, straight black hair and a pair of red-framed glasses.  She smiles at Steph, but not so much that Steph wants to bolt for the door.  Steph has to sign some papers before she begins and Dr. Lidik talks while Steph does this, but Steph doesn’t really listen.  When she shows Steph to the room connected to her office, Steph stands awkwardly in the middle, staring at the couches and chairs around her and feeling sudden unease.

“Just sit wherever you’d like,” Dr. Lidik says.

Steph already feels like she’s being tested.  What does her choice in seating say about Steph?  She wipes her hands on the front of her jeans, realizing she’s sweating more than when she had during her run this morning, and already wants to bolt for the door.  But she forces herself to sit down in one of the armchairs, hating the way she sinks down into it like she’s drowning.  It’s uncomfortable, Steph can’t sit up straight and rigid the way she wants to, she’s forced to slump back into the chair that already feels too small.  Dr. Lidik sits across from Steph, pulling off dropping into a cushioned armchair in a pencil skirt with such ease and grace that Steph is unsure how she did it.  Dr. Lidik puts a menacing looking notepad in her lap and adjusts her glasses.

“What’s the paper for?” Steph asks, eying it nervously. 

“Oh just my personal notes,” Dr. Lidik explains.  “Don’t worry, nobody will ever see them.”

That doesn’t really put Steph at ease.  Steph tries to sit up straight, but it just makes her sink deeper into the cushions.

“So, Stephanie.  Do you go by Stephanie or Steph?” Dr. Lidik begins.

Steph clears her throat.  “Steph is fine,” Steph says tensely, even though it really isn’t.  She doesn’t like when strangers use her first name, but Dr. Lidik had given her no other options.

“Alright, Steph.  Tell me a bit about yourself.”

Steph wants to laugh at that question.  Steph’s been in this century long enough to know that there’s _plenty_ of books on her.

“I mean,” Steph says.  But Dr. Lidik just gives her a pleasant, curious look.  “I’m Captain America.”

“I know that, Steph.  But I want to know who Steph Rogers is.”

“There’s…lots of books.”  Steph is already sounding pretty pathetic and she hates it.

“But I want to hear it from you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Alright, let’s start with the basics.  Would you like to tell me about your family?”

No, Steph would not like that.  But Fury said she has to be cleared by a doctor before she can join SHIELD, so Steph answers the question.

“Well, my dad died in World War I.  Before that he worked on an assembly line.  I didn’t see much of him as a kid and he died when I was pretty young.  But he was a good guy.  My mom died of tuberculosis when I was sixteen.  Her name was Sarah.  She…” Steph pauses, swallowing hard and looking at the carpet, “she was a painter.  Taught me how to draw.”

The doctor pauses to scribble something in her notes that Steph cranes to see, but to no avail.

“Okay.  Any brothers or sister?”

“No.”

“Significant others?”

“Everyone always asks me that,” Steph says suddenly.  “Even in the forties.  Especially in the forties.  Am I incapable of just being me by myself?”

“It’s just a standard question,” Dr. Lidik says, clearly not fazed by Steph’s outburst.  “Would you like to talk about it?”

“It’s just that as soon as I turned fifteen, everyone was always asking me when I was going to get married.  Settle down with a nice boy and have kids.  Never mind that I was too small and having a kid would have killed me.  But that’s all they cared about.  When I was going to be a _wife_.”

“So I take it that’s something you never wanted?”

No.  It’s not that Steph never wanted to get married.  It was just that she couldn’t marry the person that she wanted to. 

Apparently, Steph’s pause is too long, because the doctor is writing again.

“Maybe, one day,” Steph says tersely, eyes on the pen.  “But I wanted so much more than to just be some guy’s _wife_ and then die in childbirth.  I wanted to be a person on my own.”  Steph pauses again, eyes dropping to the floor.  “I wanted to do something worthwhile.”

“That’s a perfectly normal way to feel, Steph.”

Steph glances up.  Nobody’s ever told her that before.  Not that she’s asked many people in this century.  In her time, she would have been institutionalized for, well, a lot of things, but not wanting to get married would have been one of them.

“How about now?  Have you done any kind of dating since you…woke up?”

“No.”  It’s an immediate response.  “And I don’t want to talk about it,” she adds.

Steph watches for the pen to move, but it doesn’t.

“Alright, we don’t have to.  How about friends?”

“Are you asking if I have friends?” Steph accuses.

“No, of course not Steph.  But I’m sure it’s hard to find common interests… _shared life experience_ with people in the 21st century.”

“I have a friend from when I was in the Army.  She’s…older now.  Obviously.”

“Well that’s good to hear.  Anyone else?”

“Uhm,” Steph tries to go through the list of people she knows and considers friends.  “I do.”  It’s all Steph offers.

“I’m glad.”  Dr. Lidik pauses to write something.  “Any trouble adjusting?”

Steph snorts.  “What do you think?”

“Well I think it would be hard.  If I woke up and it was seventy years from now, that would be a lot to handle.  The people I knew and loved would be gone or much older.  There would be a lot of getting used to the new world around me.”

“Well, yeah,” Steph agrees.  “That’s pretty much how it is.”

“What would you say is the hardest part for you, Steph?”

Steph doesn’t like how much this doctor is using her name.  She grinds her teeth for a moment, trying to decide which answer would cause the least damage.

“I miss the people I used to know,” Steph settles on.

“Who do you miss the most?”

“Bucky.”  The answer is out of Steph’s mouth before she can even comprehend the question.  Dr. Lidik picks up a pen and scribbles something on her pad and Steph feels her throat go tight.

“I assume you mean Sergeant Jamie Barnes?” Dr. Lidik asks.

“Yeah.”  Steph chews her cheek a second before adding, “She was my best friend,” for good measure.

“You two were close?”

“Yes.”  Steph doesn’t know why she just whispered that instead of saying it a normal volume, but Dr. Lidik is writing again.  “Did I say something wrong?” Steph demands.

“No,” Dr. Lidik asks, looking up at Steph.  “Why do you ask that?”

“Because you’re writing.”

“They’re just notes, Steph.  To help me remember what you say.”

“What did you just write?”

Dr. Lidik glances down at her notes.  “I wrote, ‘demonstrates emotional pain when discussing Bucky Barnes.’  Do you think that’s a fair assessment?”

“I’m not in emotional pain,” Steph replies immediately.

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling sad or angry about your friend’s death-“

“She wasn’t just ‘my friend.’”  Steph doesn’t know why she just said that.  She really needs to reign it in.  She shifts in her seat, only sinking deeper, which just makes her more frustrated.  Steph concentrates on controlling her facial expression into something uninterested.

“Oh?” Dr. Lidik asks.  Steph’s stomach twists at the way she says it.  Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.  Steph wants to get up and run out.  She can’t keep talking to this woman, she needs to leave before she says something more.  “What would you say she was then, Steph?”

“I mean…” Steph begins weakly, trying to figure out how to say this.  “She was…my best friend.  Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.  She was always there for me, no matter what.  Even when I wasn’t there for her, she was there for me.”

“Did you love her?”

“ _What?!”_ Steph snaps.  “What do you think I am?!”  She’s almost shouting and she knows it’s telling. 

“I’m not insinuating anything, Steph.  It’s perfectly normal to have love for your best friend, the same way you have love for your family members.”  Steph drops her gaze.  “But I would like to talk about why you got so angry about that question.”

“Because, I’m not…like that.”

“Like what?”

Steph throws her hands up.  She’s sweating.  She really needs to get ahold of herself before she says too much.  “A-a-a…a _queer._ ”  It doesn’t come out as angry as she had hoped, more of a whimper than a shout.

“Well, Steph, I am sure things were different when you were younger.  But things now are,” Dr. Lidik pauses, “different.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Steph mutters.

“You’ve spoken to people about this before?”

Fuck.  Steph needs to shut up.  Just stop talking. 

“I don’t-…I don’t want to talk anymore,” Steph snaps, refusing to meet Dr. Lidik’s eye.

“That’s alright.  What would you like to talk about?”

“No, I-I don’t want to talk anymore at all.  I want to go.”

“Steph, there’s nothing to be afraid of.  It’s _illegal_ for me to talk to anybody about what we discuss in here unless you tell me you or somebody else’s life is in danger.”

Steph still doesn’t look up, still doesn’t say anything.  Dr. Lidik sighs.

“Alright,” Dr. Lidik says finally.  “If you really want to go, I can’t stop you.”  Steph immediately stands up.  “But, please, I really hope that you come back.  Just, think it over and maybe come back next week?”

Steph just nods curtly, already thinking _hell no_.  She storms out of Dr. Lidik’s office.  She doesn’t stop at the receptionists desk, just keeps marching, down the elevator, and into her car. 

How dare this woman ask about Bucky like that, Steph fumes as JARVIS pulls out onto the road, after everything Bucky had given for this country?  Who does this woman think she is?  Steph wonders what her motives might be, who might have put her up to this.  It must be Fury.  Trying to debase Bucky in Steph’s eyes.  It’s inflammatory, defaming, libel.

Except it isn’t, is it?  It’s the truth.  Guilt stabs Steph through the heart so acute that she loses her breath.  Because all Bucky _ever_ wanted was to love Steph, to provide for her, give her a life.  Bucky had wanted to hold Steph’s hand in the street, and kiss her at the bar, and take her dancing.  It ate Bucky up inside, knowing that she couldn’t.  Instead, all Bucky could ever do in public, is punch any guy in the face who got handsy with Steph at a bar, and watch with jealousy in her eyes when a fella would ask Steph to dance (even though she was awful at it) at the sock hops. 

Bucky was never ashamed of who she was.  She would have gladly dared the world to stop her and shielded Steph from any nastiness that would have come their way for it.  It was _Steph_ that was terrified.  She was the one who was constantly paranoid and afraid, always keeping watch, always listening for whispers.  Steph could handle the soldiers who hated her because she was a woman appointed over them.  She had skin made of steel when it came to that.  But if one person had ever whispered of suspicions that Steph wasn’t _normal,_ she would have lost her mind.  Even the Commandos, who were just as loyal in following Steph as Bucky had been, who Bucky had promised Steph already knew because Bucky herself had told them, and didn’t care in the least, even them Steph was constantly fearful of.

In short, if there was anyone that Bucky would be upset with after the exchange Steph had had with Dr. Lidik, it would be _Steph_ , not the doctor.  Steph was _ashamed_ of her feelings for Bucky, and that feeling crushed Steph.  All this time she had been so furious at the world for not properly honoring Bucky in the way that she deserved, but maybe all along it had been Steph who was dishonoring Bucky. 

Up ahead is a park, and it’s one Steph recognizes.  Steph can’t believe it’s still there, that it still looks so similar.  Some of the structures have been updated, but it’s still a modest but lovely place. 

It’s the park where Steph had met Bucky when she was seven years old.  Steph had punched an older boy in the face for talking bad about her father.  The boy had shoved Steph to the ground and was winding up to kick her when Bucky came out of nowhere and decked the kid so hard that he went crying home.  Steph had wanted to run, before the kid got his parents and Steph got in trouble.  But Bucky had told Steph to stand her ground.  Ten minutes later, when the kid’s mother came storming through the park, Bucky had puffed out her chest and defending Steph in a way that nobody, apart from Steph’s mother, ever had.  The kid’s mother had ended up chastising _him_ , and dragging him home by the ear.  Bucky had then turned and asked Steph if she liked ice cream, because her mom had just churned a fresh batch, and had invited Steph to her house.

From that moment on, they were inseparable.

“JARVIS, stop!” Steph cries.  JARVIS hits the breaks.  Horns blare behind Steph, but she doesn’t care.  “Park the car, JARVIS.”  Steph scoops up her bag from the back and gets out, running across the busy street and into the park.  She’s glad she wore a jacket with a hood today, because she can pull the hood up and put her chin down and slip through the fairly crowded park without too many prying eyes. 

Eventually, Steph settles down at a picnic table underneath an empty shelter.  Steph hasn’t drawn in a while, and the supplies she has are nicer than anything she’s ever had before.  She constantly takes the bag with her everywhere she goes, but inspiration has been scant lately.  Now that she’s sitting down, Steph is actually kind of surprised that she got out.  Usually, when a place reminds Steph of Bucky, she tries to avoid it like the plague.  But today, today Steph _wants_ to remember.  So she pulls out her sketchbook. 

When Steph thinks of Bucky during the war, one particular memory always comes to mind.  Steph opens the wooden case that holds her charcoals, selecting a piece and trying to lose herself to the memory, because she wants to get the sketch perfect.

_It’s March of 1943.  Steph is in a lean-to tent in a forest in Northern France.  There is a pickup for the Commandos scheduled for 0930 about three miles away.  The sun has just come up, but the day is gloomy.  Frigid rain falls from grey clouds in the sky and fog rolls through the trees, making the forest seem eerie, otherworldly.  A poncho has been thrown over the canvas of the small tent, but water still drips in steadily in a few places.  Steph is on her back, propped up on her elbows.  She’s just woken from a restless sleep and she’s blinking weariness out of her eyes.  She shoves the damp sleep sack away from her.  There’s meager light pouring through the pulled back flap._

_Bucky sits in the opening, silhouetted slightly by the gray light of the coming day.  She has one leg crossed in front of her, the other she has bent up so she can rest her elbow on her knee.  She leans her weight back against her other arm.  She’s wearing her combat pants and boots under a stained white shirt.  The shirt is stained with dry, brown blood, but it’s not Bucky’s blood.  They’ve been in the field for a while.  Steph is pretty sure that the blood is from when Bucky had used her boot knife to silently slit the throat of a German soldier on watch when the Commandos were sneaking into a Hydra base in the night._

_Bucky has never been feminine.  She’s never cared much for her appearance.  Through her entire childhood, she had dressed as a boy.  Steph is pretty sure she’s never seen Bucky wear a skirt.  When she turned thirteen, Bucky’s mother had started making Bucky grow out her hair, which until that point Bucky had kept short with the penny knife she had won in a poker game.  Her hair had grown fast when they were teenagers, and it was actually quite lovely.  Soft and chestnut with highlights of gold during the summer.  She had always kept it in a plait when it was long.  When Bucky had become a spy, she had been told to keep the hair to help with her disguise.  But the night Bucky agreed to be a Commando, she had taken a knife and cut her plait off._

_Right now, Bucky’s hair is short, sticking up wildly on her head, but it’s a good look for her.  Steph is actually a bit jealous.  She’s considered cutting all of her hair off.  Currently, it’s about to Steph’s shoulders.  Some of the other Commandos had followed Bucky’s suit, shearing off their hair.  It’s a lot to deal with in the field, when they can’t wash it or care for it, and the Commandos already have enough to deal with._

_Bucky isn’t wearing a brassiere, none of them do, constriction is something else they don’t want to deal with.  Steph can see Bucky’s brown nipples beneath the worn white shirt.  Her dog tags fall between them.  Between her fingers is a hand rolled cigarette.  She hasn’t been able to smoke for nearly two weeks, it’s too much risk of detection.  But now that they’ve completed their mission, Bucky’s had three.  When Steph and Bucky had lived together in Brooklyn, Bucky had never smoked around Steph.  Steph would have collapsed into a coughing fit, at best, would have ended up in the hospital at worst.  Now, the smoke doesn’t bother her.  It’s almost a comfort, familiar._

_The long winter is slowly turning into spring, but it’s still cold.  Bucky doesn’t seem to mind though.  Her stare is far away.  Steph can see her breath when she breaths out.  Steph wonders what she’s thinking about, but she doesn’t want to interrupt her.  So Steph stays quiet and just tries to memorize the way that Bucky looks right now, because Steph has never loved her more.  Bucky takes another draw on her cigarette, breathing the smoke out her nose.  She looks mythological, Steph thinks, like some sort of fire breathing goddess.  There is a reason that Hydra fears the Commandos.  And it’s not really because of Steph._

_Steph is strong.  She can best any of them hand to hand.  Bullets rarely slow her down.  And she’s fearless, she will run right into the fray without a second thought.  Certainly, the enemy is not used to a woman like Steph, nobody is.  But Steph is still Steph.  She can’t bring herself to do what she needs to do, often, when it comes down to it.  Even the rest of the Commandos, each with their own strengths, still don’t have the stomach needed to cross the line that sometimes must be crossed.  So it’s not Steph or any of the others whom the enemy fears._

_It’s Bucky.  Bucky is vicious, ferocious.  She will do anything needed to save Steph and the others from compromising themselves.  Steph sometimes tries not to think about the lines that Bucky has had to cross during this war, just to save Steph from having to do so.  Because it’s Steph who gets them into these situations.  But it’s always Bucky who finishes them.  Bucky can be brutal.  Bucky can be cold.  Sometimes it scares Steph, other times it fascinates her._

_Because Bucky will kill.  She will kill from afar, one of the best snipers in the US Army.  Or she will kill up close, like she had when she slit that guard’s throat like it was nothing.  She will return with a haunted look on her face, but she will never complain.  The enemy fears the Commandos, but Bucky Barnes terrifies them.  They call her “Teufels Herrin”: The Devil’s Mistress.  There is blood on Bucky’s hands, often literally.  Steph feels guilty by just how_ much _blood there really is.  Because she doesn’t know how Bucky will go on after this war.  She doesn’t know if Bucky has crossed lines in her own mind that can ever be uncrossed.  So Steph feels guilty._

_After all of this time, Bucky Barnes is still finishing Steph’s fights._

_But the moment now is peaceful, quiet.  Bucky stares out at the distance and Steph wonders what is on her mind.  And Steph loves her, painfully so, desperately so._

_Bucky hears Steph shift and turns, trance broken.  The faraway look in her gray eyes disappears and she smiles wide at Steph._

_“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Bucky rumbles, voice raw from screaming over gunfire the day before.  “You done using my jacket as a pillow?  It’s fucking freezing out here.”_

Steph finishes the shading and looks down at the sketch.  She almost feels like she can reach out and touch Bucky, pull herself back in time, back into that moment, if she just concentrates hard enough.  She tries to remember what had happened next, but she can’t.  Most of the war is a blur, with crystal clear moments like this one in between.  She wishes she could hear Bucky’s voice in her mind, wishes she could recall what Steph had said in reply, what Bucky had done next.  But she can’t.  All she knows is that they had made their transport later that day, and when they had gotten back to the base camp, Steph had had to stuff her fist in her own mouth that night when Bucky had fucked her to keep anyone from discovering them.

Its late afternoon when Steph finally gets up and calls the car on her phone.  She’s starving, she hasn’t eaten since breakfast.  She doesn’t think much as the car takes her back to the Tower.  Her own kitchen isn’t finished yet, so Steph raids the communal kitchen on one of the lower floors.  She doesn’t cook anything, just stuffs her mouth with cold cuts and cheese, drowning it with half a gallon of milk before she starts in on half of a watermelon.  She’s still hungry when she leaves, which is good because twenty minutes later, Toni is calling Steph for dinner.

Steph is quiet at dinner.  Jen and Toni are buzzing, discussing something Steph doesn’t understand.  Toni poses a few questions to Steph, about her day, about the new gear Toni is working on for her, about her floor.  Steph answers them all, but doesn’t try to start a conversation.  She feels oddly numb, uncertain, but she’s not sure about what.

Luckily, the two movies that they watch that night distract Steph.  They’re really good actually.  By the second one, Empire Strikes Back, Steph is really into the plot, her troubles of the day mostly forgotten.  For some reason, Steph really finds herself identifying with Luke Skywalker.  When Steph tells Toni as much, Toni just laughs.

“Of course you do,” Toni says.  “But that’s alright.  Because I’m more of a Han Solo.  Guess that makes you Chewbacca, Jenny.”

Jen and Toni argue a bit, but it’s light hearted.  Near the end of the movie, Steph notices that Toni is leaned against Jen and they’re holding hands.  Had she not noticed this before?  Isn’t Toni seeing Pepper?  It makes Steph suddenly remember her thoughts from earlier in the day.  She tries not to let her mind run away and focus on the movie. 

When Steph goes to bed that night, she stares at the fan over her head spinning lazily for three hours before she finally drifts into a fitful sleep.  When she dreams, it’s of Bucky.  Bucky, doused in blood, dressed in black, looking at Steph, desperation in her gray eyes.  “Save me,” Bucky pleads, “please don’t let me kill another.”  But Steph just turns away.


	8. Breaking Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter. Toni and Steph bond. Pierce makes a plan to break the Amazons up.

Steph can’t sleep.  It’s well past midnight, but Steph is still lying awake in her bed.  She’s tried everything: she’s had JARVIS change the temperature of her room and of her bed (yeah, that’s a thing now, apparently) several times each, she’s taken a warm shower, she drank almost a whole kettle of something called “calming tea,” and she even resorted to taking the sleep medication prescribed by her therapist (even though the dosage she has to take is considerably larger than a normal human’s and it probably metabolizes too quickly to do any good).  But she can’t sleep.  Maybe it’s because she can’t quiet her mind.  Maybe it’s because she knows that nightmares wait for her in slumber.  Whatever the reason, when she turns on her phone, the time 0356 is glaring back at her in angry red.

“Fuck,” Steph mumbles, deciding to just give up on the notion of sleep for now.

Tugging a sweater on, Steph strides through her floor of the Tower to the elevator.  Her bedroom has a balcony, but Steph had already sat out there drinking her tea, so she decides that she wants a different vantage point of the city that never sleeps.  So she takes the elevator up as high as it will go and mounts the stairs that lead to the roof.  Autumn is approaching aggressively this year, at it’s already frigid enough that Steph hugs her sweater to herself when she strides out onto the roof. 

It becomes immediately clear that Steph is not the only one with this idea.

Hearing the sound of the door, Toni spins to see Steph, immediately snuffing out the cigarette she was smoking.  But Steph has super senses.  She wrinkles her nose as she comes to settle beside where Toni is leaning against the barrier.

“Marijuana?” Steph asks, shooting Toni a look.

Toni chuckles a bit.  “Just trying to get a little…creative inspiration is all,” Toni explains, putting the joint back between her lips and digging around her pockets, presumably for a lighter.  “You want some?”

“Creative inspiration?” Steph asks with a laugh.  “No, I’m good.”

“Aw, come on.  You never tried any?  I won’t tell anyone, Grandma, I promise.”

Steph smirks.  Because, yes, she has, plenty before.  Bucky had been particularly fond of the substance.

“No, it just won’t do anything for me,” Steph replies.  “I kinda miss getting drunk and high though.”

Toni raises her eyebrows appreciatively, lighting the joint with the lighter she has finally found, cupping her hand around it to try and block the wind that whips around them from snuffing out the flame.

“Captain America, a degenerate,” Toni muses before taking a long drag.  She holds her breath for a stretched moment, before blowing out a substantial cloud of smoke.  “Imagine that.”

“Hey, I never said I was a goody-two-shoes.  That was the propaganda shit.  Not me.”

“Cursing too.  _Great Scott!_ ”

Steph rolls her eyes as Toni takes another hit.

“Well come on, Cap,” Toni prods.  “You can’t just tell me you got into shit and then leave me hanging.  You’re obligated to tell me stories now.”

“Stories?” Steph asks.

“Yeah, come on.  You’re like the only old person ever who doesn’t want to tell all us young whipper snappers about the good ‘ol days.”

“Eh, they weren’t that good.  I must have left my rose colored glasses in the forties.”

“Oh, you’ve got _jokes_ too!” Toni cries.  “Cap, you might just be growing on me.”  She takes another hit.  “Come on now, story time.  Give me a good one.  I could use a bed time story.”

“Can’t sleep?” Steph asks. 

“No, I can’t.  Now stop changing the subject.  Let’s hear a story.  One I haven’t read in a book or heard from my dear old dad.”

Steph huffs, trying to think of a good one. 

“Alright,” Steph finally says.  “So, when I was seventeen, I went to art school, as I’m sure you’ve heard before.  Most girls my age, they went to secretary school, mostly because that’s what their parents wanted.  But I was on my own, so I was free to spend the two nickels I had to rub together the way that I pleased.  The program was two years, four semesters.  It was right after my first semester.  Some of my classmates wanted to go out for a celebratory drink.  There was this pub that I loved going to, the bartender had served with my dad, always gave me free drinks.  So me and these two other girls go to this pub.  And we got _incredibly_ drunk.  When we were walking home, all three of us drunk as skunks-“  Toni snorts at the idiom, but Steph continues.  “…and we walked past the apartment where this fella lived.  He was a…no good son of a bitch.  He was constantly wolf whistling at me when I’d walk by, and he’d grab me when he’d see me out and about, always saying nasty things to me.  I _hated_ him.  Anyway, on his stoop there was a brand new, folding stand Coleman camp stove.  So I stole it.”

“Stephanie Rogers _stealing_ something?!” Toni cries in surprise, a grin painted across her face.

“Oh that’s not the good part,” Steph laughs.  “So I’m carrying this thing home with me, and it’s big and I was tiny, so my friends are helping me out.  And this drunkard comes stumbling out of a bar and he comes up and is trying to flirt with us, asking us about the Coleman.  Just following us home.  We go around the corner to where my flat was, and sitting right outside out flat, smoking a cigarette is-“

“The guy you stole the grill from!” Toni guesses enthusiastically.  Steph laughs.

“No.  Worse.  A police officer.”

“Shit!” Toni cries, clearly into the story.

“Exactly.  So my friends and I drop the stove and were running before the cop could turn around and see us.  The drunkard is yelling after us, telling us that he’ll take care of it.  But my friends and I ran around the back of the building and climbed up the fire escape and into my flat.  We watched through the window as the drunkard staggered up to the officer.  The officer talked to him for a beat and then suddenly puts out his cigarette and _arrests_ the guy.”  Toni gasps.  “Yeah.  And the officer puts the guy into his car and drives off, leaving the stove just sitting on the corner.  So…”  So, Bucky, who had been at home when Steph and her friends had scrambled through the window, had run downstairs and retrieved the grill when Steph was too afraid.  And then Bucky had made them take a camping trip to use it the next weekend and they had nearly burned the forest down because neither of them knew how to use the damn thing.  “So, I uh, I went downstairs and grabbed the stove.”

Toni is laughing, nearly doubled over with it.  She’s laughing so hard that she’s wheezing, and Steph guesses it has something to do with the fact that Toni’s finished her joint.  When Toni finally recovers, she claps Steph on the shoulder.  “That’s _fantastic!_   You let that guy get arrested for you.  I love it!”  Toni’s face goes suddenly serious and she holds up her right hand.  “I’ll take it to the grave, Cap.”

Steph laughs.  A genuine laugh, something that she hasn’t done in a long while.  It’s nice. 

“That’s definitely not something that you can read in the history books,” Toni says appreciatively, pointing at Steph. 

Steph squints over at Toni.  Her tangled, brown hair is down and it’s blowing in the wind.  She’s got a wool blanket thrown over her shoulders because, Steph realizes, she’s in her underwear underneath.  The arc reactor embedded in her chest casts an otherworldly glow, bathing Toni in blue light.  She looks wind swept and ruddy.  But she’s grinning wide and it suddenly strikes Steph how much Toni looks like Bucky right now.

“You know, Stark,” Steph says, “you remind me of someone.”

“No I don’t,” Toni replies immediately.  When Steph furrows her brow, Toni just laughs some more.  “Ah yes, you missed the whole ‘self-esteem, participation trophy’ trend.  But I am a special little snowflake.”  Toni winks.  “Not that that’s ever been proven.”

“What?” Steph asks.  “That you’re special or that snowflakes are?” 

“Hmm,” Toni muses.  “Both, I suppose.”

Steph laughs again.  It feels really good to laugh.  Toni has slid down the siding so that she’s sitting on the ground now, head lulled back against the ledge.  Her eyes are closed and there’s a pleasant smile on her face.  Steph slides down beside her.

“It’s your turn now, Stark,” Steph prods.  “You have to tell me a story.”

“What kind of story do you want to hear?” Toni asks, eyes still closed.

“I don’t know,” Steph replies, thinking for a moment.  “How’d you become Iron Woman?”

Toni’s head snaps up and her eyes fly open, grin gone.  There’s a haunted look in her eye that Steph recognizes, has seen on the faces of soldiers many a time, had seen on Bucky’s face after battle.  Steph immediately regrets asking.

“Or, uh, I don’t know, a story about Howard.  I knew him well,” Steph quickly tries to recover.

Toni scoffs, bitter.  “Yeah, I know,” Toni spits.  “You were his favorite bed time story.  Not that he told me bed time stories.  That was left up to my nanny.”

“Toni, I-“ Steph stutters, but Toni keeps going.

“You know, I resented you.”  Toni drops her head back again, closing her eyes.  “So fucking much.  I don’t know who the man my father was when he knew you, but by the time I came around, he was…cold.  He and my mom made it work pretty well but god, he rode my ass.  I built a circuit board when I was four years old, you know?  Graduated from MIT at seventeen.  Nothing ever satisfied him.  I always felt like he was only ever comparing me to you.  I did so many things trying to impress him, but it never felt like it was enough.”  Toni throws up her arms.  “Imagine that, poor rich white girl with daddy issues.  Real surprising headline there.”

“I’m sorry, Toni, I really-“

“But you know what’s almost worse?” Toni interrupts again, eyes opening once more and leveling Steph with an unfocused stare.  “You are every single inch the person he said you were.  I always thought he was exaggerating.  I _hoped_ he was.  I want to hate you so badly.  But I can’t.”

“Toni,” Steph mutters, looking down at her hands.  “I’m not perfect.”

Toni snorts.  “Yeah, right.”  She closes her eyes again, going quiet.

“It’s true,” Steph insists.  “I did some…terrible things.  I let…other people do terrible things _for_ me.  There were lines people crossed for me, and I just let it happen.”  Steph swallows hard.

When Steph looks back up, Toni is looking at her again, an eyebrow raised.  “Barnes?” Toni guesses, voice flat.

Steph clears her throat and drops her gaze again.

“Come on, Rogers.  We’re having girl talk up here.  I cut myself open for you,” Toni prods.

Steph just shrugs, unable to find the air in her lungs to say anything else.

“Did you love her?” Toni asks softly.  Steph snaps her gaze back up at Toni.  Toni’s brown eyes are boring into Steph's.  Steph shifts uncomfortably.  She wants to leave.  She moves to stand, but Toni grabs her wrist and yanks her back down.  “Hey,” Toni snaps, making Steph look at her again.  “Steph, I…I know alright?  I know about you guys.”

Steph sputters, grabbing the hem of her sweater and yanking at it nervously as she tries to figure out what to say.  “What do you mean?” she settles on weakly.

“Look, when I said my dad was crazy about you, I meant it.”  Steph looks up at Toni, who suddenly has guilt in her eyes.  “After you were gone, you know, the government tried to cover it up.  There wasn’t anybody who came to claim your belongings, so my dad…he took them all.  I-I actually know where they’re at.”  Toni pauses, this time being the one to drop her gaze.  “I can actually take you sometime, if you’d like.  I don’t know why I hadn’t thought to ask you until now.”

Steph fidgets, but doesn’t say anything.  So Toni takes a deep breath and continues.

“There was a letter that Barnes wrote you while she was in training.  I, uh, I found it when I was a teenager digging through some of my dad’s old archives.”

Steph feels herself go cold while at the same time breaking into a sweat.  She swallows hard, nodding tersely when Toni glances up at her.  When Toni continues, Steph finds the hem of her sweater incredibly interesting.

“I mean, the letter…it was pretty clear…”  Toni mutters.  “At least…it was pretty clear that she loved you.”

Tears are suddenly falling from Steph’s eyes.  She’s never heard that sentiment out loud, it’s never been echoed on the lips of another.  Just that fact alone has silent tears streaming down Steph’s cheeks.  She sniffs a bit before nodding.  Toni chews her lip for a moment.

“Did you love her back?” Toni asks cautiously.

“Yes,” Steph whispers, mostly to herself, not taking her eyes off the spot where she’s been tugging a stray bit of string out of the hem of her sweater. 

“During the war?” Toni continues, hand landing over Steph’s fretting fingers.  Steph looks up and meets Toni’s wide, brown eyes.  Steph nods frantically, unable to hold Toni’s gaze, focusing instead on the Empire State Building over her shoulder.

“Did anybody know?” Toni asks.

Steph looks back down at her hands, shrugging uselessly.  “Some people.  Bucky had a sister, Rebecca, and she knew.  Peggy.  Buck told me the Commandos knew, but I never stopped to ask ‘em myself.  I was too fuckin’ scared.  Cuz that’s all I ever was, a coward.  Buck loved me with everything she had, but I was just too fuckin’ scared to love her back the way she deserved.  Too preoccupied with being Captain America, or makin’ sure nobody thought I was some _freak_.  Stupid, ain’t it?” Steph finally looks up, casting a hard gaze at Toni.  “I was this medical experiment and I was runnin’ around afraid people thought I was _weird_.”  Steph drops her eyes, miserable.  “I was always just scared of people findin’ out.  Never even thought that one day I’d lose her.  Until I did.” 

Steph doesn’t know why she keeps talking.  But she’s never said these things out loud.  She was raised Catholic, so she might as well treat this like a confession.  No use hiding anymore.

“Once she was gone, I tried to kill myself,” Steph says to her hands.  She feels Toni go rigid beside her.  “Won’t read that in the history books.  Everyone thought what I did was some sort of heroic sacrifice.”  Steph shakes her head, tears tumbling from her lashes.  “I put that plane down in the Artic cuz a few days before I’d been too much of a coward to put a bullet in my brain.”  Toni’s hand tightens around Steph’s.

“Hey,” Toni says softly.  Steph forces herself to look up and meet Toni’s gaze.  “It’s okay.”

That breaks Steph.  She sobs hard, chest heaving, and then she’s _really_ crying.  Without thinking, she lunges forward and grabs Toni, hugging her hard.  Toni hold her and lets Steph sob against her shoulder, into her soft brown hair that smells like coconut and motor oil.  Steph sobs and sobs, no coherent thoughts running through her head, and Toni rubs her back soothingly. 

“She was the real hero,” Steph continues, voice muffled against Toni’s blanket.  “Not me.  She died tryin’ to save me.  To save the _fuckin’ world_.  And I died cuz I couldn’t handle living without her.”

“Steph,” Toni breaths.  “Being sad or afraid doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Steph shudders, a fresh wave of tears adding to the crowing wet spot on Toni’s shoulder.

“You are a hero,” Toni continues, even when Steph shakes her head.  “You stepped up when others wouldn’t.  Did things that others couldn’t.  Bucky was a hero too.  It doesn’t have to be mutually exclusive.  And being weak doesn’t mean you were never strong.”

Steph sniffs and sits up, pulling away from Toni.  She wipes her eyes on the edge of her sleeve, avoiding Toni’s eyes.  But Toni leans forward and tucks a stray blonde curl behind Steph’s ear.  The motion is intimate, casual.  And something that Bucky used to do all of the time. 

“I think we’ve had enough sharing time tonight, Cap,” Toni offers.  Steph nods miserably.  “Do you want to come sleep in my bed?”

Steph glances up at Toni.  It’s an odd offer but Steph suddenly finds herself nodding because she _needs_ it.  Since she has woken up, nobody has offered Steph comfort.  Or, if they had, Steph had rebuked them vehemently. 

“What about Jen?” Steph asks.  Toni laughs a little. 

“Jen’s on her own floor tonight.  Something about yoga and morning breath.”

That draws a laugh out of Steph.  Looking triumphant, Toni stands and offers Steph a hand, pulling her to her feet when Steph takes it. 

The sun is coming up when Steph slides under the sheets of Toni’s bed.  Toni shimmies in after her, throwing an arm loosely around Steph before quickly dozing off to sleep.  Steph doesn’t think that she’ll be able to fall asleep but is surprised to find that the steady breathing of Toni behind her makes her eyelids feel heavy.  For the first time in week, Steph falls into a dreamless, restful sleep.

 

***

 

Alexander Pierce is not happy.  Rogers has slipped out of his grasp.  Fury scurried her away again, and now Captain America is high atop Stark’s tower, practically untouchable.  In fact, all of Fury’s freaks are out of Pierce’s grasp.  And the more time that passes, the more Pierce realizes that he should have listened to his advisors and found a way to take out the Amazons long ago.  Project Insight is moving into its final phase.  The helicarriers are already beginning the reoutfitting process.  The algorithm is going through preliminary testing.  And it’s becoming clear that the only thing that could stop Hydra now is the Amazons. 

Pierce needs to draw them out of the Tower.  Divide and conquer.  Luckily, a little bankrolling and some well-placed informants will have Stark in California before long.  Without Stark in the Tower, he’ll be able to push Fury to bring Rogers into active status in SHIELD.  And Pierce happens to know someone with a personal vendetta against Banner.  All Pierce has to do is pull the right strings. 

Once Rogers is in DC, Pierce knows that all it will take is showing the bitch her personal failings.  Setting the Winter Soldier on Rogers will be a wicked form of justice.  It will devastate Rogers.  And Rogers won’t fight back once she realizes the person who is trying to kill her used to be her long lost love.  It will all be too easy.

That’s why the Soldier is being brought out of cryo today.  She’s been on ice for over a year and a half and needs some maintenance.  She has to be ready for whenever Pierce decides to send her after Rogers.  And once his plans are in place, that could very well be any day. 

In the programming room, the Soldier is in a fugue state.  Coming out of suspended animation, especially after so long, always results in the Solider being disassociated from reality.  Luckily, all it takes is a sufficient programming session and the Soldier is wiped clean, whatever memories haunted her in her sleep scrubbed away.

But for now, as the Soldier thaws and is dragged from the cryo-tank, she is still trapped in the past, trapped in the mind of someone Hydra tried to kill many decades ago. 

_It’s cold, freezing really.  They walk silently through the snowy forest, the wind whipping the flakes through the air, casting a fog between the trees.  Bucky keeps her weapon at the low ready.  The Commandos move in a Squad-Column Fire Team-Wedge through the forest in Northern Italy.  Fanned out in similar formations are the men of the 36 th Engineers, Sappers following on with the Commandos to lay-in obstacles before the offensive at sundown.  The Sappers had grumbled (to put it nicely) at the prospect of following women into battle.  That was until Steph had strode into their encampment, taller than most of them by a good head, and laid out her plan.  Bucky hadn’t stopped the smirk that had been painted on her face, even when it came to her brief on sustainment._

_The rest of the Soldiers have been bemoaning the cold, but Bucky has found that the cold doesn’t really bother her much anymore.  She tries hard to not think about why that might be, to not imagine herself strapped to a table in Azzano, to not hear the echoes of the broken bits of Germen that she had been able to understand._

_Before her, Steph throws up a fist, calling the formation to a halt.  Bucky mimes the motion, glancing over her shoulder to ensure the message is passed on.  Steph turns, eyes going to the tree above Bucky.  Bucky glances up just in time to see it too.  A sniper, holding his breath until the formation passes him by.  Steph’s shield ricochets off of his head and the man tumbles from the tree.  Bucky doesn’t hesitate to put a bullet in his brain._

_But the memory is changing and now Bucky is squinting through her scope.  The Commandos have no back up force with them now, and Bucky is the only fire support for their small assault element.  Because they’ve snuck into enemy territory in a dairy truck.  Jaqueline and Pinky, both fluent in German, with their hair down and curled and rouge on their cheeks, had charmed some guards to get them past the checkpoints while the rest of the Commandos held their breath in the back and hoped they were charming enough to prevent the Germans from checking the truck._

_Bucky has twenty three confirmed kills already today.  She was more than happy to let Steph, in her red, white and blue getup, storm the castle while Bucky stayed cozy in her nest.  She doesn’t like to admit it to herself, but sitting up here hidden and striking the enemy down like God gives her a sick thrill.  And Bucky is_ good _at it._

_Steph is bounding over the debris of a wall that had crumbled with Jacqueline’s charges.  Above her, a Hydra soldier leans out from a guard post.  Bucky takes aim, breathes in, out, holds, squeezes.  The soldier tumbles from the wall, dead.  Through her scope, Bucky watches Steph turn and throw her a lazy salute._

_“Fucker!” Bucky hisses, her position given away.  Fucking Rogers and her undisciplined ass, giving away sniper nests like this is amateur fucking hour.  Bucky shoves herself to her feet, slinging her rifle and ducking down so she can scurry through the forest to the secondary fire point._

_She’s about three hundred meters away when a Hydra scout comes rushing over the hill.  Bucky dives behind a downed tree, but not fast enough.  A bullet hits her thigh.  She feels the sting and the warmth of her blood.  But it doesn’t hurt.  Adrenaline floods her body and she unslings her weapon, rolling to her stomach and low crawling.  But she’s too slow, the Hydra soldier is leaping over the trunk.  Bucky reaches for her boot knife, she kicks his feet out from under him and brings the knife hard into his jugular.  Rolling on top of him, Bucky throws a hand over his mouth to muffle his scream as she drags the knife through his throat.  The soldier sputters and dies, his warm blood baptizing Bucky on the cold forest floor.  She doesn’t move away, not until he stops thrashing and then even a little while longer._

_Scooping up her rifle, Bucky keeps moving.  She can’t move onto the secondary position, she’s leaving a trail of blood in the snow.  So she throws off her coat and finds a tree, scaling it until she’s got a view of the battlements down below.  It’s uncomfortable, but Bucky finally maneuvers herself into a firing position._

_By the time the battle is over, Bucky’s forgotten about the bullet hole in her leg.  Once they are back on the forward operating base the next day, she’s shocked to find the wound healed over.  Biting down on a bit of leather, Bucky digs the bullet lodged in the muscle out with her knife.  That wound is healed up a day later as well.  She never tells Steph.  She never tells anyone._

The Soldier is strapped into the chair.  The scientists can see the misty way her eyes wander, still trapped in a memory.  The restraints hold her down as she begins to scream in agony, as those memories are cut out of her mind inch by inch.  Blood trickles from her ears and runs down her face from her nose.  She thrashes hard against the thick metal bands that hold her. 

By the time they are done, Bucky Barnes has been chased back to the shadows.  Convulsing and gasping for air, only the Winter Soldier remains.

 

***

 

It’s mid-October when a phone call wakes Jen up.  She’s in Toni’s bed, a place she has found herself a lot lately, Toni snoring next to her.  Jen jars Toni in an attempt to wake her, but Toni just mutters something incoherent and refuses to open her eyes.  Groaning, Jen reaches for Toni’s phone.  The backlight that comes on hurts Jen’s retinas.  She blinks a few times, feeling for her glasses.  She can’t find them, so Jen blindly pushes the call button.

“Hello,” Jen croaks.

“Stark.  We need to talk.”

Jen freezes.  Because she would know that voice anywhere. 

“ _Ross_ ,” Jen growls. 

On the other line, Thaddeus Ross pauses before demanding, “Who is this?” 

Jen hangs up.

Jen reaches for the bedside light, failing to find it before shouting, “JARVIS, lights!”  Beside Jen, Toni grumbles again when the lights blink on.  But Jen is getting out of bed.  The jostling finally makes Toni open her eyes.

“Jen…” Toni mumbles, squinting at Jen.  “What are you…”

“Why are you talking to General Ross?!” Jen demands, yanking on her sweatshirt. 

“What?” Toni asks, confused.

“General- _Secretary_ Ross just fucking called you!”  Jen is shouting, but she doesn’t care.  “Why?!”

Toni reaches over to grab her phone, checking it to confirm Jen’s words.  Jen just scoffs.

“Why are you talking to him?” Jen repeats.

“Jen, it’s…I know you don’t like the guy, but it’s not what you think.”  Toni is waking up a little more now.

“Don’t like him?!” Jen parrots.  “That’s a fucking understatement!  That man tried to kill me, he set the _Thing_ on me!  He hunted me for _years!_   And do you know why?!”

“Jen-“

“It’s not because I’m the fucking Hulk, that’s not why.  It’s because he didn’t like me _fucking_ his daughter.  He is _insane_ and now he’s the fucking Secretary of State!”

“ _JEN_!”  Toni is on her feet now, putting her hands on Jen’s shoulders to spin her.

“Get off of me!”  But then Jen is facing a mirror and- _Oh shit._  

Jen’s eyes are bright green, and she’s changing a few shades.  Toni is already moving across the room.  A few months ago, Toni and Jen had developed an “emergency formula” that would successfully stop Jen from changing.  Toni’s got the needle in her hand already and, as Jen closes her eyes and counts her breathing, Toni sinks the needle into Jen’s upper arm.

Just in the nick of time too, because the second the needle is empty, Jen is swinging a muscular arm at Toni’s midsection, and Toni flies across the room. 

Jen stumbles and falls to the floor.

When she wakes up, she’s staring up at Steph.  Her head is pounding and she can see Steph’s lips moving but can’t hear anything except a low hum.  Steph helps her into a seated position and Jen rubs her temples until Steph’s faraway voice sounds a bit closer. 

Jen’s memory is fuzzy, but when she catches glimpse of Toni sitting across the room, a bandage on her forehead, Jen’s memory is jogged. 

“Jen,” Toni says, noticing Jen’s awake and throwing up her hands defensively.  “It’s not what you think, alright?”

“Not what she thinks about what?” Steph asks, looking over at Toni.  Toni chews her lip.

“Secretary Ross called her,” Jen growls, feeling herself getting angry again, but counting her breathing and staying seated beside Steph.

“The Secretary of State?” Steph asks, confused. 

“Why the hell was he calling you, Toni?” Jen snaps.

Toni stands and strides across the room with no specific destination.  She just paces a bit, nervously.  Finally, she huffs and rounds on Jen, running a hand through her hair.

“I…I told you I would take care of your… _record_ ,” Toni begins.

Jen stiffens.  “And?”

“And…” Toni says, dropping her gaze.  “And I promised Ross a few favors in return for him…forgiving your past.  As long as you stayed with me in the Tower and-“ Toni stops quickly, wincing and turning away.

“She’s under house arrest?!” Steph asks, sounding as outraged at Jen feels.  “What kind of favors are you doing for him, Toni?”

“And, what, Stark?” Jen hisses.

Toni chews her lip, refusing to meet Jen’s gaze.  “And you didn’t contact Betty,” Toni mutters quickly.

Jen takes a sharp breath through her nose, shoving Steph’s arms off of her.  Steph goes to grab her again, but Jen is walking towards the door.

“Jen!” Steph cries. 

Jen turns just as she reaches the door, pointing a finger at Toni.  “When were you planning on telling me this?”

“Jen, come on!  Did you _really_ think all of that shit just disappeared without any kind of compromise?!” Toni cries.  “I know you’re smarter than that!”

Jen scoffs, bitter and hard.  “I am smarter than that, Toni.  I’m smart enough to know that no matter what Ross is having you do, dealing with Thaddeus Ross is _never_ just a compromise.  He is no fucking good, Toni.  And I-…I won’t sit around here with you as my fucking babysitter as long as you are being Ross’s errand girl.”

“What are you saying?” Steph asks, reaching for Jen, but Jen moves out of her grasp.

“I’m saying I’m doing what I should have done _months_ ago.  I’m fucking leaving!”

Steph gasps audibly.  “And if you’re smart, Rogers, you would do the same,” Jen adds, throwing a furious glance at Toni.  “Who knows what she’s got holding over your head.”

With that, Jen turns and storms out.  She doesn’t look back. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my most favorite work. I know it's a bit weak. But I've had a long week, had to go back to work after a long time off for an injury, and then immediately got the flu. Yay! I'm really trying to move along to the part where my babies are (semi) reunited. Cuz Stucky is OTP 4 lyfe.


	9. Toni Stark: the Woman of Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toni moves back to Malibu to be with Pepper, but it doesn't help her PTSD or anxiety. So Pepper takes care of her. Poor Toni, always trying so hard to act strong when all she really needs is to be taken care of. Subby Toni makes me happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smutty smut ahead, folks. Also canon anxiety attack and angsty stuff like that. Enjoy!

Once Jen was gone, Steph was soon to follow.  Steph said it wasn’t because Toni had gone behind Jen’s back, that it was because Fury had cleared her for active duty status with SHIELD, but Toni could see it in her eyes that she thought that Toni had betrayed Jen.  Steph was in the Tower through Thanksgiving—which true to their words, the whole team (minus Jen) had attended in the Tower so that Toni could show off their suites and give them their new presents (secretly in the hope that they might decide to stay in New York)—and then she was off to DC.  She had promised to visit, asked Toni to keep in touch, said she would talk to Fury about living in New York, but Toni knew better. 

So, once again, Toni Stark was alone. 

The Tower was too big, too empty.  When nightmares about falling, endlessly for eternity through space woke Toni screaming, she had nobody to turn to.  Well, she had Pepper.  But Pepper was in California, at the Stark Industries headquarters.  So, in the end, Toni ended up back in Malibu, back in her old workshop, with all of her old suits lined up in cases like trophies. 

Ross held Toni to her word, even though it had cost Toni her friendship with Jen and the only reason she was dealing with the man in the first place.  But Toni had made a promise and there were Iraq veterans going missing and a series of bombings that Ross insisted Toni look into because the State Department was moving woefully slow.  What Toni guessed, what Ross didn’t say, was that the vets had served under him in the war and he didn’t want anything to tarnish the reputation he had worked so hard to make shiny again. 

Being in Malibu didn’t help the nightmares.  Actually, they kind of made them worse.  At the Tower, Toni had a project, something to do.  Perfecting each Amazons’ suite was a never ending project, something Toni could do with her hands when she didn’t sleep at night.  Even with Pepper in Toni’s bed most nights, Toni still found herself wandering around her mansion, always eventually ending up in her workshop.

So Toni did the only thing she knew, she worked.  She tinkered with her suit, obsessively looking for weak points, dreaming up upgrades.  Toni tried not to think of the past, tried to not let it haunt her.  Some nights, Toni would wake up, chest heaving, cold and terrified and the only thing she ever found that helped was stumbling about until she could get into her suit.  It was sad and pathetic and Toni knew it, but it made her feel protected, made her feel like maybe something terrible won’t hurt so bad when it happens if she’s Iron Woman and not Toni Stark.

It’s one particular night like that that inspiration hits Toni hard.  She’s in a suit for absolutely no reason other than Pepper is away on business and Toni woke up screaming.  Instead of working on upgrades, Toni decides to get wildly drunk.  She’s about halfway through the bottle of vodka when she stumbles in front of the cases holding Mark 1 through 7, standing like sentries keeping guard.  It’s a comfort, having the here, knowing that if anything goes wrong, Toni’s got seven backups.

That’s when inspiration hits.

So maybe Toni Stark is obsessive, and eccentric, and sometimes illogical, but she’s a genius for fuck’s sake, geniuses are rarely model citizens and perfectly well balanced individuals.  Maybe it’s absolutely ridiculous that Toni almost never sleeps anymore, spends all of her time in the workshop, even when Pepper is home.  But the bug has buried itself deep in Toni’s brain and she can’t stop until her need is satisfied. 

The longer Toni works, the more she wonders if it will ever be satisfied.

It’s late December, Toni isn’t sure of the exact date.  Christmas is coming up.  Or just happened.  Maybe it’s January.  But she’s in her workshop, injecting herself with micro repeaters.

“Ow!” Toni hisses as the injector gun embeds the sensor into her forearm.

“Forty six,” JARVIS counts.

“ _Ow!_ ”

“Forty seven.”

“ _Mmm_ ouch.”

“Ma’am, may I please may I request just a _few_ hours to calibrate-“ JARVIS begins to plead.

“Nope,” Toni replies briskly, reloading the gun.  “Forty eight- _ah!_ ”

Toni shakes out her arm, a line of angry red welts running the length of it now.  She grabs the alcohol swab from the table and wipes the blood from her arm.

“Micro repeater implanting sequence complete,” she tells JARVIS.

“As you wish, ma’am,” JARVIS says.  “I’ve also prepared a safety briefing for you to entirely ignore.”

“Which I will,” Toni replies, shaking out her aching arm again.  “Alright, let’s do this.”  Toni looks up at DUM-E, who’s sweeping lazily, Dunce cap still on.  “DUM-E,” Toni calls.  “Hi, DUM-E.  How did you get that cap on your head?  You earned it.”  DUM-E turns away sheepishly and continues to sweep.  “Hey.  _Hey!_ ”  Toni stands and can’t help herself from practicing a combo on her Wing Chun dummy as she passes to approach DUM-E.  “What are you doing out of the corner?  You know what you did.”  Toni points to where she was just sitting moments ago.  “Blood on my mat.  Handle it.”

Toni continues to stride further into her workshop.

“Ma’am, may I remind you that you’ve been awake for nearly 72 hours?” JARVIS asks adamantly.

Toni pretends not to hear.  She approaches her camera, feeling light headed and a bit loopy.  Fuck sleep.  She can sleep when she’s dead.  There’s nothing but nightmares there anyway.  Toni throws some shadow punches at the lens.  She’s sure she looks like an idiot teenager but she doesn’t really care at this point.  She’s alone, after all.  For all that she talks to JARVIS and her other robots (her only real friends), they’re not alive and they don’t judge.  Well, JARVIS sounds a lot like he’s judging right now.  But he’s judging her poor life choices, not Toni’s ridiculous moves.

Toni turns and faces her suits, centering herself on the test pad. 

“Focus up, Ladies,” she says to the suits.  “Good evening.”  Toni bows at the waist, hands together.  “And welcome to the birthing suite.”  Butterfingers moves the camera closer to Toni.  “I’m pleased to announce the imminent arrival of your bouncing, badass baby sister.”  Toni turns to Butterfingers, motioning with her hands.  “Start tight, then go wide.  Stamp date time.” 

Toni turns on her heel.

“Mark 42,” she announces to nobody in particular.  “Autonomous Prehensile propulsion suit test.  Initialize sequence.”

Toni begins to squeeze her finger tips together, touching the sensors in the code she had worked out.  She glances over to where her suit sits scattered on a table top.  The helmet lights up.  Toni can’t help the manic smile that spreads across her face.

“JARVIS,” Toni says.  “Drop my needle.”

The jazzy remake of Jingle Bells that Toni has been listening to on repeat since November begins.  Toni can’t help but to get a little funky with it, dancing provocatively for her robots on the test pad.  It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.  She continues to gyrate until she throws her hand out, pressing her thumb to her palm to call the suit.

Nothing happens.

Toni furrows her brow and tries again.  Still nothing.

“Crap,” Toni mutters, standing up straight again and bringing her arm to her teeth to chew on the sensor that’s supposed to be summoning the gauntlet.  She slams her palm against it a few times before turning to face the suit again. 

Toni throws out her arm a third time.  Finally, the gauntlet jumps to life and flies towards her, molding around her hand and forearm perfectly.  Next, the shoulder slams into her at a speed that would probably hurt if she wasn’t so numb from a lack of sleep and extends down to cover the rest of her arm.  Smiling at her success, Toni turns and tries the other arm.  The right gauntlet comes flying, landing perfect.  Toni throws up her hands, laughing manically.

“Alright, I think we got this,” Toni tells JARVIS.  “Send them all.”

Toni squares up, throwing her horns at the rest of her suit as the other pieces all activate.  The right leg loops around, landing on her knee and shifting to cover her upper leg just as the boot flies over to meet it.  Just as Toni is grinning at her success, her helmet flies by, narrowly missing her head and smashing into the glass case of the Mark 4.  As she turns to watch the glass shatter, her abdomen cover spirals straight towards her face.  Toni throws up an arm, deflecting it, and it hits the light above instead.

“Probably a little fast,” Toni says.  “Slow it down.  Slow it down just a-“ Toni has to duck to miss another component flying straight at her face, “…little bit.” 

Across the workshop, there’s a crash.  Toni ducks to the side to miss another piece aiming for her head and moves her leg up just in time to catch the left leg components.  Before the leg is even fully assembled, the crotch plate hits her hard.  Toni wheezes, wind knocked out of her, and bends over as the force makes her slide back a step.  Another piece hits her on the back, sending her flying the other direction.  She manages to catch herself with the repulsors before she goes face first into the concrete.

Toni comes to a shaky landing back on the test pad.  “Cool it, JARVIS,” she grunts as more piece collide with her, merging with the rest of the suit.  The helmet, having dislodged itself from the glass, whizzes past Toni and this time hits her record player, knocking it over and halting the music.  The helmet recovers and Toni stares it down.

“Come on,” she calls.  “I ain’t scared of you.”

The helmet flies towards her, colliding again with a table, flipping over.  Toni launches herself from the test pad, flipping up to meet the helmet spiraling course.  When she lands, the suit comes online.

“I’m the best,” Toni congratulates herself.

But she speaks too soon, because another piece collides with Toni’s lower back, sending her flying again.  The suit goes offline and falls off of her in pieces as she skids across the floor of the workshop.

Toni groans, rolling to her front and yanking the helmet off of her head.

“As always, ma’am, a great pleasure watching you work,” JARVIS derides.

Toni grabs a nearby chair and pull herself to her feet.  “I guess 72 hours is a long time between siestas,” she concedes, mostly to herself, not wanting to give JARVIS the pleasure. 

She stumbles about her workshop, grabbing up pieces of her suit and shouting at DUM-E to get the rest.  The need to perfect the Mark 42 is thrumming against Toni’s chest, like a real thing, wilder than her heartbeat.  It claws up her throat and tries to choke her no matter how often she swallows it down.  She could keep going, stay up another 72 hours and perfect the suit.  And maybe, by Sunday, it would be perfect.  But Toni’s been through this thirty three other times already in the last month and half.  As soon as she finishes one, another one will spring into her mind.

Toni’s exhausted.  There’s no denying that.  She wants to sleep for a week, her nights have been so dismal lately.  On an average night, she might get three or four hours of tossing and turning and waking every thirty minutes before she gives up and comes to her workshop to either kick the shit out of her gym equipment or work on another suit.  She goes days at a time without going outside, or even upstairs, and definitely not sleeping, usually not eating either.  She knows that she’s driving herself insane.  She knows she has to sleep.  Christ, she fucking _knows_.

But sleep so rarely comes naturally.  So Toni forces herself to throw the parts of the Mark 42 onto the worktable and stumbles over to the bar.  She pours herself a double shot of bourbon and digs around for the sleeping pills.  She taps out twice the recommended dose, and chases the little white pills with her bourbon, then pours herself another. 

When she wakes six and a half hours later on the couch in her workshop, it’s to an alert beeping on a screen.  Toni grumbles.

“JARVIS, what the hell?!”

“My apologies, ma’am, but this is from the State Department.  It is marked urgent.”

“It’s always urgent,” Toni grumbles to herself, rolling off the couch.

She should have stayed on the couch.

Twenty minutes later, Toni is watching President Ellis’s address about the Mandarin.  She bristles when Rhodey comes striding out onto the stage, introduced as “Iron Patriot.”

“Cheap knock off,” Toni mumbles.  But it kinda hurts.  Toni is a fucking Amazon.  She saved the fucking world and almost died doing it.  Yet Secretary Ross enlists her help through back alley deals while Rhodey strolls out in her stolen suit that’s got a new, horrific paint job.  Not that Toni’s holding grudges.  Rhodey has been her best, and sometimes only, friend since college.  Toni technically gifted her the suit.  She had been more than happy to work on some upgrades to the War Machine (especially if it meant ditching some of that god awful HAMMER tech).  And Toni can’t really blame Rhodey.  She’s in the military, so technically they can do whatever they want with the suit and make Rhodey call it whatever they say.  But it still feels wrong.  And it still makes Toni a bit angry.

She tries not to let that anger show when she meet Rhodey for lunch that day.  But she’s Toni Stark, and Rhodey didn’t give her the nickname Toni Snark for nothing.  So it’s approximately three minutes before Toni is making fun of the paintjob.

“It tested well with focus groups,” Rhodey insists, strained.

“ _I am Iron Patriot, roar!_ ” Toni growls, voice low.  “It sucks.”

“War Machine was a little too aggressive,” Rhodey explains.  “Alright?  This sends a better message.”  She motions vaguely to the TV over the bar that’s silently tuned to CNN.

Toni sighs.  As much as she would _love_ to keep teasing Rhodey or to talk about _anything_ else in the world, she didn’t just meet with Rhodey to make fun of the suit.  She’s technically got a job to do for Ross.  It might be taking advantage, pressing Rhodey for details they both know are classified, but Toni is going to do it anyway.

“So, what’s really going on with the Mandarin?” Toni asks under her voice.  Rhodey averts her gaze, choosing to become interested in her water suddenly and not look at Toni.  Toni pulls her glasses off.  “Seriously,” she presses.  “Can we talk about this guy?”

Rhodey shifts uncomfortably, glancing around the crowded bar before leaning closer.  “It’s _classified_ information, Toni,” she says, as expected.  But, also as expected, Rhodey leans a little closer and continues.  “Okay.  There have been nine bombings.”

“Nine,” Toni parrots under her breath.

“The public only knows about three,” Rhodey continues.  “And here’s the thing.  Nobody can ID a device.  There’s no bomb casings.”

“You know I can help,” Toni points out hopefully.  “Just ask.”  She sits up, a gleam in her eye.  “I got a ton of new tech.  I got a prehensile suit.  I got bomb disposal.  Catches explosions in mid-air.”

Rhodey levels Toni with a serious look, concern casting deep creases on her forehead.  “When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

Toni scoffs.  “Einstein slept three hours a year.  Look what he did.”

“People are concerned about you, Toni,” Rhodey retorts.  Toni goes stiff.  “I’m concerned about you.”  Rhodey shakes her head and reaches out to lay a hand on Toni’s forearm.  Toni tugs her arm away bitterly.

“You gonna come at me like that?” Toni demands.

“No, look, I’m not trying to be a bit-,” Rhodey stops abruptly, eyes going to the other side of the table where two little girls are suddenly standing.  “…ter friend,” she finishes awkwardly.

The older girl holds out a picture of Iron Woman drawn in crayon.  “Do you mind signing my drawing?” she asks Toni sweetly.

“If my bitter friend doesn’t mind,” Toni says with a smile, indicating Rhodey.  “You alright with that?”

“Yeah, fine with me,” Rhodey grumbles. 

Toni takes the drawing, laying it out in front of her.  “What’s your name?” Toni asks.

The girl answers, but Toni doesn’t hear it.  Because she’s looking at the drawing now and realizing what it’s of.  Over a city skyline, Iron Woman carries a sloppily drawn missile on her back towards a black hole at the top of the peper.  Toni chews on her lip and stares at it for a long moment.  She takes the crayon the little girl is holding in shaky fingers as Rhodey leans in.

“Listen, the Pentagon is scared,” Rhodey says under her breath as Toni begins to write.  “After New York, aliens?  Come on.”  Toni cringes, looking up nervously around the bar.  But Rhodey continues, “They need to look strong.  Stopping the Mandarin is a priority, but it’s not-“

“It’s not superhero business,” Toni finishes for her, voice sharp.

“No,” Rhodey agrees.  “It’s not.  Quite frankly.  It’s America business.”

Toni nods.  She’s feeling frantic.  She’s still writing on the drawing.  The kids are still there, watching, waiting.  “I get it,” she mutters to Rhodey.  “That’s why I said I got-“

The crayon in Toni’s hand snaps in two under her shaking grip.  She sighs, dropping her face into her hands.  Rhodey asks if she’s okay, but Toni tunes her out.  “I broke the crayon,” Toni mummers.

“Are you okay, Ms. Stark?” the little girl asks politely. 

No.  No she is fucking not okay.  Rhodey’s hand lands on Toni’s shoulder and all of a sudden it’s too much.  The walls are closing in on her, her lungs are constricting.  She feels flayed open, like all of her nerves are exposed, vulnerable.  Toni tries to gulp down air, but her body is not cooperating.  Her vision begins to tunnel.  She squeezes her eyes shut.  Behind her eyelids is a hole in the sky.  One of the little girls is getting closer.

“How did you get out of the wormhole?” she whispers in Toni’s ear.

Toni shoves herself away from the table.  Rhodey is calling after her, but she’s running, stumbling into people in her desperation to get outside.  The world is going to end.  She knows it.  Something terrible is going to happen.  She’s going to fucking die.  People shoot her nasty looks when she barrels right into them, apologizing under her breath.  She has to get to a suit.  She can’t breathe, she needs JARVIS, she needs protection.  Oh god, she’s going to die.

The suit on the curb looks ridiculous, parked next to the motorcycles, surrounded by people taking pictures.  It senses her stumbling towards it and opens.  She’s going to fucking die, she knows it.  It feels like something is squeezing her heart, her lungs, her organs.

“Check the heart, check the-check the,” the stammers to JARVIS once the suit closes around her.  She’s falling to her knees but she can’t feel it.  “Is it the brain?”  On the console, scans begin to appear.

“No sign of cardiac anomaly or unusual brain activity,” JARVIS reports.

“Okay,” Toni mutters wildly, “so I was poisoned.”

“My diagnosis is that you’ve experience a severe anxiety attack,” JARVIS offers sheepishly.

“Me?” Toni asks, disbelieving.

There’s a clanging on the suit, someone knocking on the helmet.  Toni shudders and looks up past the console.  Rhodey is knelt on the pavement in front of Toni.  She’s saying something, eyes glancing up at the onlookers gathered around.  Toni says something back, hastily, but she’s not sure what.  And then she’s blasting off of the ground.

Maybe if she goes high enough, she can get away from her problems.

 

It’s Monday and Toni is nearly finished with the Mark 43.  It’s in retrofitting right now, so Toni decides to call Pepper.  She assumes Pepper’s been around the mansion but as Toni hasn’t left the workshop, aside from her disastrous trip to the bar with Rhodey, she wouldn’t really know.

When the call picks up, Toni’s staring at Happy’s forehead.

“Hello,” Toni chirps.  “Is this forehead or security?”

“What?” Happy replies a little too loudly.  “Look.  You know what, I got a real job.  What do you want?  I’m working.  I got something goin’ on here,” Happy says quickly, lowering his device so that Toni’s now staring up his nostrils. 

“What?  Harassing interns?” Toni asks in a dead-pan.

“Let me tell you something.  Do you know what happened when I told people I was Iron Woman’s body guard?  They would laugh in my face.”

Toni does just that, laughing and proving Happy’s point.

“I had to leave while I still had a shred of dignity,” Happy continues, still talking quickly as if he has a million other places to be.  Leave it to that guy to do his job to the fullest extent.  “Now I got a real job.  I’m watching Pepper.”

“What’s going on?  Fill me in,” Toni insists, bounding down the stairs to grab a bottle of wine.

“For real?” Happy asks in disbelief.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.  So she’s meeting up with this scientist.  Rich guy.  Handsome.  Right?” Happy begins and Toni can already tell he doesn’t like the guy.  But Toni shrugs, running her fingers over the bottles absentmindedly, about to say that sounds like Pepper’s type.  But Happy keeps going.  “I couldn’t make his face out at first.  Right?  You know I’m good with faces?”

“Oh, yeah.  You’re the best,” Toni replies lightly, reaching for a wine glass from the table she had left it on earlier. 

“Yeah, so I run his credentials.  I make him.  Aldrich Killian.”  The name sounds familiar.  “We actually met the guy back in…where were we in ’99?  The science conference?”

“Um…Switzerland,” Toni recalls as she falls into her leather seat.

“Right!  Right.  Exactly.”

“Killian?  I don’t remember that guy,” Toni says, reaching for the half-finished bottle from earlier.

“Course you don’t,” Happy snaps.  “He’s not a blonde with a big rack.”  Toni shrugs, pouring herself a glass.  “At first it was fine, they were talking business.  But now it’s like gettin’ weird.  He’s showing her his _big brain_.”

“His what?”

“Big brain,” Happy repeats.  Toni cocks and eyebrow.  “And she likes it.  Here, let me show you.”

The camera angle changes.  “Here.  Look,” Happy says, face on the screen expectant.

“Look at what?  You watching them?” Toni asks.  “Flip the screen, and then we can get started.”

“I’m not a tech genius like you,” Happy retorts.  Toni rolls her eyes.  “Just trust me!  Get down here!”

“Flip the screen,” Toni insists.  “Then I can see what they’re doing.”

“I can’t!  _I don’t know how to flip the screen!_ ” Happy shouts, frustrated.  “Don’t talk to me like that anymore, you’re not my boss.  Alright?  I don’t work for you.”  Toni picks up her phone, flipping up a new holo-screen so she can pull the credentials on this Killian character.  “And I don’t trust this guy,” Happy continues.  “He’s got another guy with him.  He’s shifty.”

Toni rolls her eyes, closing the side screen.  “Relax,” she says.

“Seriously?” Happy snaps.

“I’m just asking you to secure the perimeter.  Tell them to go out for a drink or something.”

“You know what?  You should take more of an interest in what’s going on here.”  Happy is beginning to sweat, glancing over at Pepper’s office and whatever horrors he thinks are going on there.  “This woman’s the best thing that ever happened to you and y-y-you-you’re just _ignoring_ her!”

Toni is up again, not wanting red anymore, and strolling along her wine selection, trying to ignore Happy.

“A giant brain?” Toni asks.

“Yeah!  There’s a giant brain.  There’s a shifty character.  I’m gonna follow this guy.  I’m gonna run his plates and I’m gonna…you know.  If it gets rough?  So be it.”

Toni selects a Chardonnay from the chiller, chuckling.  “I miss ya, Happy,” Toni says fondly.

“Yeah, I miss you to,” Happy replies.  “But the way it used to be.  Now you’re off with the super-friends.  I don’t know what’s goin’ on with you anymore.”

Great.  Another concerned citizen.

“The world’s gettin’ weird.  Hey!” Happy shouts, probably noticing that Toni is comparing whites and not listening to him anymore.

“I hate to cut you off,” Toni replies, not looking at the screen.  “Do you have your Taser on you?”

“Why?”

“I think there’s a gal in HR that’s trying to steal some printer ink.  You should probably go over there and zap her.”

“Yeah.  Nice.” Happy mumbles, annoyed.

“Keep up the good work, Hap.  Defending America against lunch line cutters and people who don’t clock out for their break.”

“Hey, asshole, it’s your money,” Happy says as a farewell.

“Yup.  Love you too.  Buh-bye.”

Toni loses the next two hours working out.  Every few hours, she remembers that it’s Date Night.  Pepper will be coming home soon, but Toni can’t make herself stop.  She _has_ to get stronger, to _be_ stronger.  Because if she’s strong enough, maybe she won’t freak out the next time a six year old says something to her, maybe she won’t come so close to dying, maybe things will be alright.  That’s just how her days are now: going back and forth between working on her strength and working on her suits.  Every so often she sleeps.  Usually when she’s trying to fall asleep, she buys a different Christmas present for Pepper.  Toni still doesn’t know the date.  She doesn’t know when Christmas is.  So she’s covering her bases.

The Mark 43 isn’t done reoutfitting.  And Toni isn’t done with her work out.  But JARVIS is announcing the Miss Potts has arrived.  Toni grinds her teeth as a pit opens up in her stomach.  To add to her back-and-forth’s, she constantly alternates between missing Pepper like crazy and avoiding her like the plague.  She knows it’s not fair to Pepper.  She knows that Pepper deserves better.  But Toni keeps pushing her away and then missing her when she leaves.

Maybe that’s why she sends the Mark 42 upstairs in her stead.  Because for some reason, Toni just can’t face Pepper right now.  She can’t stomach the idea of having hands on her, let alone Pepper’s hands.  Always gentle, always caring.  Toni doesn’t deserve that, not yet.  So she stays hidden in her workshop, doing pullups and trying to distract Pepper when she comes into the house.

But it doesn’t work.  It was a stupid plan anyway.  And Toni chides herself for it when she hears Pepper open the door to her workshop.  Butterfingers holds out a plate of food for Pepper, but Pepper shoves it away, angry.

“This is a new level of lame,” Pepper declares.

Toni drops from the pullup bar and turns to face her.  “Sorry,” Toni says quickly, throwing her hands up and taking a few steps backwards, away from Pepper.

“You ate without me?  Already?  On Date Night?” Pepper exclaims.

“She was just-“ Toni begins, pointing at the Mark 42.  But Pepper interrupts.

“You mean you?”

“Well…yeah-yeah I mean _we_ were just hosting you,” Toni replies hastily.  Peppers scoffs in disbelief.  “…while I just finished up a little work.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And yes, I had a quick bite.”  That’s a lie.  Toni doesn’t know when the last time she ate was.  But she’s learned quickly to lie about that.  Right now, the thought of food is revolting.  “I didn’t know if you were coming home or if you were having drinks with _Aldrich Killian_.”

Pepper glares at Toni.  It was a low blow.  Their rule is that they tell each other when they’re going to see other people.  Pepper has never broken that rule.  But Toni is pushing because she doesn’t know what else to do.  Pushing and backing further into the workshop, further away from Pepper.

“Aldrich Killian?” Pepper cries in disbelief.  “What are you checking up on me?”

Toni crosses her arms over her chest.  “Happy was concerned,” Toni offers.

“No, you’re spying on me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I’m going to bed,” Pepper snaps, turning on her Gucci heel.

“Hold on!  Come on!” Toni calls after her.  “Pep?  Hey!  I admit it!” Toni throws up her hands in surrender.  “My fault!  Sorry.”  Pepper stops halfway up the stairs to look at Toni.  Toni drops her hands, defeated.  “I’m a piping hot mess,” she admits miserably.  Toni sighs heavily, crossing her arms protectively across her chest again.  Pepper starts coming back down the stairs.  “It’s been going on for a while.  I haven’t said anything,” Toni confesses.  “Nothin’s been the same since New York.”

“Oh really?” Pepper asks.  “Well I didn’t notice that at all,” she says sarcastically.   

Toni ruminates, trying to figure out how to say what she suddenly needs to say.  She swallows hard, dropping her gaze.  “You experience things,” she begins, already sounding weak, not sure exactly what she’s saying, “then they’re over.  And you still can’t explain them.”  Toni shrugs miserably, glancing back up at Pepper who’s watching her closely.  “Gods.  Aliens.  Other dimensions…and I’m….just a…just a woman in a _can_.”  Toni is suddenly striding towards Pepper.  “Probably the only reason that I haven’t cracked up is because I moved back here.  Which is great.  I love you.  I’m lucky.  But, _honey_ ,” Toni sounds pained, desperate, “I can’t sleep.  You go to bed, I come down here.  I do what I know.”  Toni takes a step back, feeling too close to Pepper, and leans against the table.  “I…I tinker…I…” Toni motions vaguely, helplessly, looking for the words.  “Threat is imminent.”

A sad look crosses Pepper’s face and Toni hates knowing that it’s for her.

“And I have to protect the _one thing_ that I can’t live without.”  Toni points at Pepper.  “That’s you.”  Pepper’s face softens but still looks sad.  “And my suits?  They’re, uh…” Toni glances around

“Machines,” Pepper finishes for Toni.  She’s not wrong.  Toni can sit down her all day every day and talk to them, but they’re still not people, she’s still all alone. 

“They’re part of me,” Toni corrects.

Pepper shakes her head.  “A distraction,” she says softly.

“Maybe.”

Pepper sighs and closes the space between them slowly.  She puts her hands on Toni’s shoulders.  All it takes is that one touch.  Nobody has touched her in days.  Toni feels so broken, so desperate.  She leans her head forward until her forehead rests on Pepper’s chest.  Pepper runs her hands up Toni’s arms before quickly removing Toni’s standalone display set from her head.  Pepper smooths Toni’s hair and Toni lifts her head, looks up into Pepper’s soft, green eyes.  She feels like she might cry.  She bites back tears.  How can Pepper love her?  How can she accept her?  After everything Toni has done?

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Pepper says softly.

“Okay,” Toni replies, voice flat as Pepper pulls away.

Pepper turns in the doorway, striking an alluring pose.

“And you’re gonna join me,” she commands.

Toni nods frantically, standing up straight.  “Better,” Toni chirps in agreement.

Toni chases Pepper up the stairs, through the mansion until they’re both barefoot and padding through their bedroom towards the showers.  Toni goes to shed her shirt, but Pepper turns and grabs her wrist.

“Uh-uh,” Pepper chides.  “Not so fast.”

Toni feels her heart rate spike, but for a good reason this time.  She breathes in sharp through her nose.  Pepper’s eyes go dark, lustful, her face full of sinful intentions.  Toni loves it when Pepper gets bossy, and just the idea of it has her feeling warm between the legs.

“Me first,” Pepper says, moving into Toni’s space.  “Slow.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Toni mutters, reaching for Pepper.

She’s dressed in a wide breasted white business coat and matching white skirt.  Toni grabs the edge of the jacket, unhooking its elongated breast from its clasps, slowly unwrapping Pepper like her own personal early (or maybe late) Christmas present.  Pepper lifts her arms slightly so Toni can slide the coat off of her, revealing her porcelain skin an inch at a time.  Pepper turns slowly so Toni can get the zipper at the back of her skirt.  Toni bends to slide the skirt off before she grabs Pepper’s hips in both hands and pulls her close to kiss her lower back, where the skin is exposed below her loose white button up.  Pepper turns quickly and swats Toni lightly.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Pepper chides.  Toni grins, straightening and reaching for the buttons of Pepper’s shirt.

Pepper _always_ wears gorgeous, matching undergarments.  Today is no exception.  When the shirt is gone, she looks like a fucking Victoria Secret runway model.  Pepper reaches up and unpins her ponytail so that it falls around her shoulder and Toni steps back to admire.

Today Pepper has on a nude lace bra with a nude lace thong to match.  Around her waist is a garter belt that holds up her nude stockings.  Toni licks her lips and Pepper sinks her teeth into her bottom, red lip, purposefully being seductive when she leans over to unsnap the garters.  She puts a foot up on the sink and raises an eyebrow at Toni.  Toni immediately grabs the edge of the stocking she’s wearing and rolls it deliberately, painfully, _deliciously_ slow down Pepper’s leg.  Pepper lifts her foot so Toni can slip it over her foot and then she shifts, bringing up the other leg so Toni can do it again. 

Next, Pepper turns her back to Toni and lifts her hair so Toni can unsnap her bra.  Once Toni has slid it off and undone the garter belt, she can’t stop herself from leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Pepper so she can palm her naked breasts, bending to mouth along Pepper’s neck.

“You’re eager tonight,” Pepper observes.

“Can you blame me,” Toni growls in Pepper’s ear.  “Look at you.”

Toni can feel Pepper smile before she turns in Toni’s arms.  Pepper glances down at her underwear expectantly and Toni falls to her knees obediently to slide the lacy garment down Pepper’s long legs.  When Pepper steps out of them, Toni stays on her knees, at her alter, trailing kisses over the curves of Pepper’s hip bones.  But she doesn’t get very far, because Pepper grabs her chin and pulls Toni to her feet again.

Pepper steps back, completely nude, and leans against the counter.

“Now you,” Pepper directs.  “Just as slow.”  A grin pulls up the red corners of Pepper’s lips.

Toni grins back just as mischievous.  

“JARVIS,” Toni calls.  “Play me something sexy.”

The Pretty Reckless comes on and Pepper laughs a little.

“Hey, if I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna do it right,” Toni points out.

Toni begins moving her hips to the beat, slow and deep, as she grabs the edge of her shirt and begins to roll it up her body as slow as she can stand, pulling it over her head roughly so it muses up her hair, before tossing it to the side.  Toni moves forward, putting a hand on either side of Pepper’s hips and caging her in before Toni drops to the beat and comes up slow, running her tongue from Pepper’s navel to her collar bone, relishing the goosebumps it elicits.  Pepper puts a hand on Toni’s shoulder and pushes her back.

“Your shows not over, babe,” Pepper observes. 

Toni turns her profile to Pepper, bending sharp at the waist and pushing her yoga pants down slowly.  She’s not as gracious as Pepper, but Toni had been a hell of her flirt in her day, hell she still is.  She steps out of her pants and is left in a black cage bra and dark grey tomboy underwear.  Toni continues to move herself to the beat, twisting and arching.  Toni _might_ have taken a pole dancing class when she was nineteen.  And she might have just dropped gracefully to the ground so that she’s arching and moving on all fours.  Pepper watches her, hungry and wanting, but unmoving.  So Toni sits up on her haunches and unclips the straps under her left arm and lets the bra slide away. 

Pepper bites her lip again and Toni spins easily until she’s on her back, pushing her hips up so she can slide the underwear down to her thighs.  She presses her back to the ground and lifts her legs straight up, pointing her toes and kicking the underwear off the rest of the way.

Once Toni is naked, Pepper beckons her forward with a red, manicured finger.  Toni stands and goes to invade Pepper’s space, but Pepper suddenly stands and uses her height advantage to turn and pin Toni against the sink before kissing her aggressively.  Toni moans and opens her mouth obediently.  Pepper nips her lip before stepping back.  Toni gasps, frustrated.  But Pepper has her back to her and is walking into the water fall shower, which lights up and turns on when Pepper steps in.

Toni stays leaned against the sink, watching Pepper tip her head as the water runs down her body.  It’s a breath taking sight and it’s making Toni incredibly wet.  She waits until Pepper looks back up at Toni and beckons her forward before she shoves off the sink and steps into the shower as well.

Pepper shoves Toni against the heated tile wall of the shower and begins to kiss her, hot and wild and filthy.  Her hands run up and down Toni’s body, punching a nipple then running over her hips then back around to cup her ass.  Toni threads her own fingers in Pepper’s hair before the other one anchors on her hip.  Pepper leans her weight in to pin Toni against the wall.  Just as her fingers dip past Toni’s navel, she steps away.  Toni cries out.

“You _tease_ ,” she whines.  Pepper just grins and grabs the shampoo, handing it to Toni.  Toni huffs but takes the bottle. 

Pepper steps back under the stream and turns her back to Toni so Toni can begin to lather her soft red hair, taking time to massage her forehead with her fingertips.  Toni is rewarded with a satisfied sigh and grin from Pepper.  Pepper leans back towards the water to wash the suds out and then grabs the expensive body wash and handing that to Toni.  Toni picks up the loofa, pouring a generous helping of the wash onto it before setting to work. 

Pepper stays quiet, eyes closed, still smiling as Toni washes her meticulously.  Her breath hitches when Toni pushes the soft loofa between her legs but she grabs Toni’s wrist when Toni tries to push harder and excite her more.  Toni huffs again but keeps working her way down Pepper’s body. 

The conditioning treatment is next, and Toni runs it through Pepper’s hair.  It’s then that Pepper turns and grabs Toni to move her under the spray so she can return the favor.  Except that when Pepper goes to wash between Toni’s legs, she switches the loofa for a hand and slips a finger into Toni’s unsuspecting body. 

“ _Ah!_ ” Toni gasps.

“Shh,” Pepper breathes in Toni’s ear, the loofa discarded.  “I’ve got you, baby.”

Pepper moves the finger in and out of Toni slowly, careful of her nails, even though she keeps the two fingernails on her right hand shorter than the rest for a reason.  Toni leans against Pepper, throwing her arms around Pepper’s shoulders and concentrates on breathing through her nose.  Pepper’s thumb adds pressure to her clit as she adds another finger.

“Pepper, Pep, _Peps_ ,” Toni moans as Pepper picks up speed.  Toni grips Pepper to her.  She doesn’t want to let go, ever.  Nobody but Pepper can do Toni like this.  Nobody but Pepper knows exactly what Toni needs, when she needs it.  Nobody but Pepper can unwind her and undo her and let her fall to pieces with the promise to be there to put her back together.  Toni can’t believe she had run from Pepper’s touch earlier.  This is all she ever wants, for the rest of her life.  She needs Pepper.  She _needs_ her.

Toni is starting to shake.  Pepper guides her leg up to a ledge, opening her up more and Pepper adds a third finger, twisting her wrist as she moves in and out to brush over Toni’s G-spot.  Toni’s breath hitches and she begins to whine, high and needy, in her throat.  Her breathing is shaky, uneven.  Her head falls back, she doesn’t care about the water hitting her in the face.  The shower is warm, humid.  Everything feels so close, so much, so perfect.

“Pep, please, please, I’m gonna- _uh_ , I’m gon come.  Please, please, _please_.”

“Go ahead, baby,” Pepper breathes.

Toni screams when she comes, gushing around Pepper’s deft fingers.  Pepper kissing along her throat as Toni shakes in her arms, waves of pleasure making her weak.  She slumps against Pepper, panting.

“Thank you,” Toni says, and she _means_ it with everything that she has.

Pepper kisses her lips before letting her go.  Toni leans against the side of the shower.  She wants to say something snappy, but her brain isn’t working.  Pepper moves back to sit against the ledge in the back of the large shower.  She lifts one long leg and sets it on another ledge against the wall.  Toni grins, going to her knees and crawling forward.

“Yes, _please_ ,” Toni says.  But when she gets close, Pepper moves her leg and puts her toes against Toni’s forehead, stopping her.

“What do you say?” Pepper asks.

“Please, please, Pepper, can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I put my mouth on your gorgeous pussy?” Toni begs.  Pepper drops her leg around Toni’s shoulder and pulls her in.  Toni goes submissively, eagerly.

They stay in the shower until they are pruning, and then a little while longer.  They even turn the water off and have JARVIS fill the shower with steam.  By the time they fall into bed, still damp with sweat and water, panting, Toni is sore and sated and _so fucking in love with this woman_.

Pepper curled around her, Toni falls asleep, warm and happy for the first time in a long time.


	10. Off the Grid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More events from Iron Man 3, along with my own personal headcanon justification as to why nobody helped Toni

Toni might have fallen asleep satisfied and exhausted, but, unfortunately, life catches up to her.  And it’s not long before Toni awakes from her nightmares to screaming.  Except this time, it isn’t her screaming.  It’s Pepper.  Toni twists in damp sheets to see the Mark 42 pinning Pepper to the bed, repulsor aimed at her face.  Toni jumps from the bed.

“Power down!” she shouts at the Mark 42.  When the suit goes offline, Toni hits it with all of her strength and it clatters to the floor in pieces.

Toni is panting, still sweating from the nightmare she was just having.  Pepper jumps from the bed now as well, turning on the lights.  Toni glances at her miserably.

“I must have called it in my sleep,” Toni deduces, dropping her gaze from Pepper’s critical stare.  “That’s not supposed to happen.  I’ll recalibrate the sensors.”

Pepper has caught her breath and is straightening.

“Hey, no-can we just…let me just,” Toni stammers as Pepper begins to walk away from the bed.  Toni wants to cry, wants to beg on her knees for Pepper not to leave.  “Hey, don’t-…don’t go.  Alright?  Pepper?”

Pepper runs a hand through her head, huffing and shooting Toni a glare.  “I’m gonna sleep downstairs.”  She turns and walks towards the door.  “Tinker with that.”

Toni collapses, defeated into her bed.

 _God_ , what the fuck is wrong with Toni?  Just when it felt like she got Pepper back, she fucks up and loses her again.  Because Toni loses everyone, even when she is trying desperately to keep them.  _Especially_ when she is trying desperately to keep them.  She lost Jen, she lost Steph, hell, she even sorta lost Rhodey with this whole Iron Patriot thing.

And now she’s going to lose Pepper.

Because nobody can stand to be around Toni.  That’s a lesson she had learned a long time ago.  She knows that she’s abrasive, competitive, volatile, can’t take anything seriously to save her life, at least on the outside.  Years ago, she covered up the pain of being alone with models and liquor and expensive cars and lots and lots of sarcasm.  It had worked, sorta.  And people had bought it, they had believed that Toni Stark was just a selfish bitch and they had left her alone.

But then all of…this happened.  Then she became Iron Woman and Toni thought maybe now people would like her, want to be around her, put up with her.  If she’s a hero, if she saves the world, maybe people will think she’s worth keeping around.

God, she’s a fucking head case.  She knows the pity party she’s throwing herself is bullshit.  She knows that she’s got all sorts of abandonment issues.  She learned that much after Obadiah made her see a therapist after her folks died.  At the time, Toni had felt like Obadiah was stepping up, filling in as a parent she never had.  But then, of course, years later he tried to have her killed so he could steal her company.

Is everybody in the world just buttering Toni up to get something from her?  Maybe it’s her fault.  Because she keeps on giving.  She stays in this abusive relationship with the world, never asks for or insists on change.  A defense contact to build a new WMD every year?  Coming right up.  Oh, you need me to stop some terrorists for you?  Sure thing.  What’s that?  You want me to carry a nuclear missile into space and, probably, die?  No problem.

All it ever gets her are meager participation trophies.  Some award given to her at some event where people politely clap and she has to get up on stage and thank _them_ for it.  Where are all of those people the moment Toni is off that stage?  Back with the people that they _actually_ care about.

Being with Pepper felt like a real shot, it really did.  A shot to have someone who actually cares.  A shot to have someone who won’t just pat her on the back when she saves the world, but worry for her while she does it.  Toni’s never had that before.  And of course she’s fucking it up.  Pepper deserves better than someone who keeps weaponized robots walking around the house, threatening her when she’s just trying to help.

When Toni feels tears in her eyes, she rolls out of bed and practically runs to the workshop.  Because even though she knows it’s not true, the only thing that drives her is the hope that one day she will be able to _build_ the perfect thing, the one thing that makes someone, anyone turn to her and tell her that she really, _actually_ matters.

And then, two days later, Happy is in the hospital, in a coma.  Attacked by the Mandarin because Toni had failed to stop the fucker.  Toni had been too wrapped up in her own fucking _bullshit_ to do her fucking job.  And now Happy, one of those few people who might actually care about Toni, is close to dead.

Toni failed him, just like she fails everyone else.

The reporters who crowd her outside the hospital nearly drive Toni over the edge.

Check that: _do_ drive her over the edge.

“Hey, Stark, when is somebody going to kill this guy?”

Toni freezes, turning to glare at the pushy young reporter, holding a phone in Toni’s face.  “Just saying,” the reporter says with a lazy shrug, like what he said was just a casual talking point at a polite dinner party.

Cameras click as Toni turns slowly to face the reporter.

“Is that what you want?” Toni snaps.  She pauses, looks around at the crowd, feeling pushed too far, too fast, without no parachute.  “Here’s a little holiday greeting,” she speaks up, addressing the whole crowd now.  “I’ve been wanting to send to the Mandarin.  I just didn’t know how to phrase it until now.”  The crowd is dead quiet besides the clicking of camera shutters. 

“My name is Toni Stark, and I’m not afraid of you.  I know you’re a coward.  So I’ve decided,” Toni whips off her glasses and stares straight into the camera, “that you just died pal.  I’m gonna come get the body.  There’s no politics here.  It’s just good old fashioned revenge.  There’s no Pentagon.  It’s just you and me.  And on the off chance that you’re a man, here’s my home address.  10880 Malibu Point, 90265.  I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

Toni snatches the reporter’s phone from his hands.  “That’s what you wanted, right?” she growls, turning and throwing the phone over her car.  It smashes against a pillar as people gasp.  “Bill me,” she says, turning and climbing into her car.

If asshole, sarcastic, sardonic Toni is what the world wants, well then that’s what the fuck the world is going to get.

 

***

“Steph,” Nat cries, sounding breathless, taking the stairs into the gym in one graceful leap over the quarter-wall.  “You’re gonna want to see this.”

Steph ducks May’s kick aimed at her head, jumping backwards as May lands and spins to look at Nat.  Steph takes a step back, wiping the sweat from her forehead.  Nat’s face is strained, real actual worry painted in its lines, something that Steph has never actually seen before.

“What?” Steph asks, out of breath.  May has her head cocked, silently asking the same thing.

“Just come the fuck up here,” Nat demands, turning to bound back up the stairs.  Steph swallows, not bothering to untape her knuckles before she goes to follow Nat up the stairs.

Upstairs, Clara and Nat are both about twelve inches from the television screen, both of them strained and horrified.  Steph comes around to the front of the TV so she can see what has them so worried.

It’s a massive white mansion, built into a cliff.  Except, not for long, because three helicopters hovering in front of it are firing rockets straight through the floor to ceiling windows that face the ocean.

“What is that?” Steph asks.

“That’s Toni’s house!” Nat cries.  “Thirty minutes ago.”

Steph’s eyes fall to the banner beneath the video. 

TONI STARK PRESUMED DEAD

Steph doesn’t even have a moment for a complete thought before she’s turning towards where May is watching with her mouth hung open.

“Melinda, I need a bird in the air in _T minus ten_.  Natasha, see if you can get ahold Jen.  Clara, contact Fury.”  Steph throws a look at the screen, where a massive chunk of the mansion is crumbling into the ocean.  “Tell her that the Amazons have assembled.”

 

***

 

“Ma’am,” JARVIS calls, voice far away.  Toni shifts.  And alarm is blaring but Toni just wants to sleep.  She hasn’t gotten real sleep in so long.  She just needs five more minutes.  “ _Ma’am_!”

“Alright, kill the alarm, I got it,” Toni grumbles, opening her eyes.

She’s staring at her heads-up display.  She’s in a suit.  How did she get into a suit?

“That’s the emergency alert triggered by power dropping below 5%,” JARVIS tells her.

Toni furrows her brow, memories coming back to her in bits and pieces.

“Oh.”  Toni squints through her visor.  She’s in the air.  But not for long.  The road is approaching _fast_.  She’s falling.  Oh fuck!  _She’s falling_.

Toni screams as she collides with the road, narrowly avoiding a lone vehicle.  She skids along the pavement before careening over the side and into a snowy wood.  She’s being rattled around like rocks in a can, and she’s sure she’s got about a hundred concussions at this point.

After smashing through several trees, the suit slides to a stop finally.  Toni grabs the visor, pulling it off, to be met with cold, wet snow falling on her face.

“It’s snowing?” Toni asks, disoriented.  “Where are we?  Upstate?”

“We are five miles outside of Rose Hill, Tennessee,” JARVIS corrects.

“ _Why?_ ” Toni cries.  “JARVIS!  Not my idea!”  Toni stares up at the snow covered branches above her.  “What are we doing here?  This is thousands of miles away!  I gotta get Pepper,” Toni’s voice pitches frantically, “I gotta-“

“I prepared a flight plan,” JARVIS interrupts, sounding almost proud.  “This was the location.”

“Who asked you?!” Toni groans.  “Open the suit.”

“I…I think I may be malfunctioning, ma’am…” JARVIS’s voice begins to fade.

“Open it, J.”

The suit crackles and whirs dangerously, but finally opens in halted, broken movements.  Toni sits up, shuddering when the cold air hits her skin.  “Uh!  That’s brisk.”

Toni blows on her hands.  It’s really fucking cold.  She looks around but there is nothing but snow covered forest as far as she can see.  She grabs a chunk of snow to wipe the blood from her arm, but the sensors aren’t even lit.

“Maybe I’ll just cozy back up,” Toni says.

“I actually…think I…need to…sleep now, ma’am.”

The suit powers down.

“JARVIS?!” Toni cries.  “JARVIS!”  Toni feels her heart rate spike.  There is no sound except the snow falling softly on the ground.  “Don’t leave me, buddy,” Toni pleads.

Nothing.

Now Toni really is alone.

She knows she has to move to stay warm, so she wastes no time extraditing some tubing from the suit so she can create a sling to pull it with.  The trek through the forest, up the hill, back towards the road is longer than Toni expects.  It only took her a few seconds to be launched three miles into the wood line, but it takes her over an hour, pulling the suit behind her, to get back out. 

Her concussion is starting to get to her because all she can think about is how much she probably looks like Nero dragging the coffin through the snow in Django.  By the time she reaches a Texaco, she’s freezing, teeth chattering hard, the sweat from pulling the suit only making her colder.  So, of course, the first thing she sees in a wind-worn poncho on a wooden Indian.  Well, if she’s going with spaghetti western, she might as well fucking commit.  She yanks it off the statue, shaking off the snow before she throws it around her body.

“You don’t need this, right?” Toni asks the Indian.  “Right.  Didn’t think so.”

Nearby there’s a phone booth.  Toni stumbles over to it, parking the Mark 42 outside.  She digs in her pockets, triumphantly pulling out a quarter. 

“Stark secure server, now transferring to all known receivers.”

Toni waits patiently for the beep.

“Pepper, it’s me.  I’ve got a lot of apologies to make and not a lot of time,” Toni pauses, dry washing her frigid face with even colder hands.  “So, first off….I am so sorry that I put you in harm’s way.  That was selfish and stupid and it won’t happen again.  Also, it’s Christmastime and the rabbit’s too big.  Done.  Sorry.  And I’m sorry in advance because I can’t come home yet.  I need to find this guy.  You gotta stay safe, that’s all I know.  I just stole a poncho from a wooden Indian…I don’t know why I told you that.  But I guess I’m sorry to the Indian for stealing his poncho.  But uh…”  A voice tells Toni she’s got thirty seconds left.  “I just-I love you, alright.  Please, please stay safe.  I am so sorry.  I hope you forgive me but I…I would understand if you didn’t.  I’m going off the grid, I need to figure this out.  Try not to worry.  I love you.  Bye.”

 

***

 

“What do you mean the Amazons haven’t been authorized for assembly?!” Steph has to stop herself from throwing punches.

“I mean that if you take a bird out, you can guarantee punitive action taken against all of you,” Fury replies over the phone. 

“Toni is in trouble, and you can’t stop us,” Steph dares.

“Rogers, this is what happens when you become a SHIELD operative, asking to use SHIELD equipment and resources.  You don’t get to make these calls.  Hell, _I_ don’t even get to make these calls.  The World Security Council is the only one with the power to deploy the Amazons now.  You’re a SHIELD agent.  May, Romanoff, Barton, _all_ SHIELD agents.  Toni is not…” Fury pauses.  When she continues, her voice is strained.  “Toni is on her own.”

“What the hell good is SHIELD if they can’t respond to attacks on US soil?!  Three armed helicopters just _waltzed_ into that air space and nobody fucking stopped them!” Steph really is shouting now.

“I don’t have the authority, Rogers.  I don’t know how else to tell you that.”  Fury pauses again, for even longer this time.  “ _I_ don’t have that authority.”

Steph freezes. 

“Copy all, ma’am,” she says, hanging up the phone.

 

***

 

The sleepy little town of Rose Hill is smaller than Toni even knew towns could be.  Harley leads her through the streets that are sporadically lit up with Christmas lights.  Every so often, Toni will hear a tired Christmas carol playing over fuzzy speakers.  The walk from Harley’s house is about four blocks, he says.

“The sandwich was fair,” Toni says, glad to finally have an actual on.  “The spring was a little rusty.  The rest of the materials, I’ll make do.  By the way,” Toni takes a few long steps forward to come even with the kid, “when you said your sister has a watch, I was kinda hoping for something a _little_ more adult than this.”  Toni pulls up her sleeve to regard the Dora the Explorer time piece.

“She’s _six_ ,” Harley points out, laughing.  “Anyway, it’s limited edition.”

Quite the cultural coinsure Toni has chosen as her spirit guide tonight. 

“When can we talk about New York?” Harley presses without missing a beat. 

“Maybe never,” Toni answers.  “Relax about it.”  The kids asked at least once every ten minutes in the hour and a half Toni has known him.

“What about the Amazons?  Can we talk about them?”

That’s the last thing that Toni needs right now.  She’s trying to lay low.  Star spangled isn’t really great for that.

“I don’t know, later,” Toni mutters.  “Hey, kid.  Give me a little space.”  Toni probably shouldn’t push a ten year old.  But she’s never been good with kids.  Never wanted them.  They’re tiny humans who need constant attention.  And Toni already takes up all the attention anyone will pay her.

They are approaching a blown out wall, the remains of a building, blown to rubble in October.  All around, memorials are laid.  Candles flicker in the wind, casting eerie shadows on the wall as the light dances over flowers and crosses and teddy bears.

“What’s the official story here?” Toni asks.  “What happened?”

Harley comes to a stop just short of the memorials. 

“I guess this guy named Chad Davis, used to live roundabouts.”  Harley slowly lowers himself until he is sitting on the ground.  “He won a bunch of medals in the Army.  And one day folks said he went crazy and made, you know, a bomb.”  Toni walks closer to the wall where morbid shadows of dying people have been burned into the concrete.  “And then he blew himself up.  Right here.”

“Six people died, right?” Toni asks, still wandering along the remains of the wall.

“Yeah.”

“Including Chad Davis?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Toni steps back, counting the shadows.  “Yeah,” she says, mostly to herself.  “That doesn’t make sense.”  Toni sits down next to her new acquaintance.  “Think about it,” she tells him.  “Six dead, only five shadows.”

“Yeah, well,” Harley says, stutter a bit.  “People said these shadows are the marks of their souls going to Heaven.”  Toni tries hard not to scoff at the absurdity.  “Except the bomb guy.  He went to Hell, on account of he didn’t get a shadow.  That’s why there’s only five.”

Toni shoots the kid a look, she really thought he was smarter than that.  “Do you buy that?” she asks.

“That’s what everyone says,” Harley replies weakly with a shrug.

They sit in silence for a long moment, watching the candle light flicker in the breeze.

“You know what this crater reminds me of?” Harley finally asks. 

“No idea.  I’m not-I don’t care,” Toni grumbles, angry with her thought process being interrupted.

“That giant wormhole,” Harley says with a wide smile, looking up at the night sky.  “In, um, in New York.  Does it remind you?”

Morbid fucking kid, this one.

Toni cringes, pressing her fingers into her eyes.  “That’s manipulative,” Toni snaps.  “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Are they coming back?” Harley asks, not taking a hint.  “The aliens?”

If Toni had even a sliver of maternal instinct or understanding of children, she would pause and realize this is just a kid who needs reassurance.  But Toni was never given reassurance as a child and she’s at her wits end as far as days go.

“Maybe,” Toni retorts.  “Can you stop?”

Harley’s mouth hangs open for a moment, finally silent.  So Toni presses.  “Remember when I told you that I have an anxiety issue?” Toni asks, leveling with a ten year old.

“Does this subject make you edgy?” the snot nosed kid asks innocently.

“Yeah, little bit.  Can I just catch my breath for a second?”  Toni turns to look up at the sky for help, breathing in deep through her nostrils.

“Are the bad guys in Rose Hill?”  This kid doesn’t give up.  “Do you need a plastic bag to breathe into?  Do you have medication?”

Toni rolls her eyes.  “Nope.”

“Do you need to be on some?” Harley continues.

“Probably.”

“Do you have PTSD?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you-are you going completely _mental_?!”

Toni huffs.

“I can stop,” Harley offers.  “Do you want me to stop?  Do you need me to stop?”  Harley is touching Toni now.  Toni flinches away.

“Remember when I said to _stop doing that?!_ ” Toni barks.  “I swear that you’re gonna freak me out.”

Harley licks his lips.  But the damage is done.  Toni feels like she might throw up.  She’s staring at the crater and she’s seeing the wormhole and her heart rate is skyrocketing.  She feels so helpless, here without a suit and without JARVIS, with _anybody_.  Without Pepper.

“Ah, _shit!_   You did it, didn’t you?” Toni cries, quickly scrambling to her feet.  “You happy now?”  Toni is marching away.

“What did I say?” Harley calls after her.

It’s ridiculous, but Toni is starting to run now.  She has to go, she needs to get away.  She wants JARVIS back so fucking badly.  And how pathetic is that?  She can’t fucking function without her AI buddy around to take her fucking temperature. 

Harley is calling after her, but Toni doesn’t stop.  She doesn’t care that she’s outrunning a ten year old and leaving him on his own, at night, in the middle of town.  Toni tears off her coat, it’s too heavy, she can’t breathe with it on.  She slips on some ice, losing her balance and colliding with the wall.  She reaches for the stop sign post because she’s going to the ground, wheezing and terrified.

Harley catches up with her just as she tears her baseball cap off her head so she can start rubbing snow on her face.

“What the hell was that?” Harley demands.

Toni sighs.  Gathering the snow into her hand, she throws it straight at the kids face.  “Your fault,” she accuses.  “You spazzed me out.”

Harley just grins down at her.  Toni huffs again, putting her hat back on.

“Okay, back to business, where were we?”

 

***

 

The (technically hijacked) flight to Malibu takes way too long.  Steph feels helpless, hopeless, terrified.  Forty minutes in, a headline breaks.  The Mandarin takes over TV stations and executes a man live on screen.

“The Air Force is deploying Rhodes- _Iron Patriot_ to Pakistan,” Clara reports from the RSO station.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Steph hisses. 

The Mandarin has taken credit for the recent bombings and for killing Toni Stark.  Steph had watched the video of Toni outside a hospital, challenging the Mandarin in front of about fifty reporters and cameras.

SHIELD has been tracking the Mandarin for the last six months.  He’s taken responsibility for ten bombings.  But every lead they have turns out to be a dead end.  Nat had been dispatched by Fury personally a month ago to track him down.  She came back empty.  There were no traces of him nor the organization that he claimed to head, the Ten Rings, the same organization that kidnapped Toni in 2008.  Not a single person anywhere who could say they knew the man, knew who he was, knew any of his followers, knew anything about his organization being active.  The guy was a _ghost_. 

And, apparently, the bombing the he took credit for the night before had injured one of Toni’s friends, and man named Happy.  So Toni had called the fucker out on national television.

“ _Idiot,_ ” Steph had hissed at the tablet.

Nat had raised an eyebrow as if to ask, _Did you expect any less_.

Because, no, Steph didn’t.  Standing by while her friends got hurt was not Toni’s style.  Guilt settles into Steph’s gut.  If she hadn’t left the Tower, left Toni _alone_ with her sleeplessness and nightmares and _clear_ shell shock, then she wouldn’t have been in Malibu.  She would have had backup when she decided to take on the Mandarin.  She would have had the Amazons.

Instead, Toni was alone.

Steph has let another one of her friends, her battle buddies, down.  And now, Toni might be as lost to her as Bucky is.  Steph digs her fingernails into her thighs and prays that she’s wrong.

By the time they make a pass over what’s left of the mansion, it’s night time, but emergency personal are still swarmed around the place (along with about forty news trucks).  Steph has May come around the cliff-face so that Nat can drop out of the back in specialized diving equipment.  Clara is let out near the edge of the property to gather information there .  Steph and May continue to the hospital to find Pepper and see if they can get a lead on Toni.

Except Pepper isn’t at the hospital.  Apparently she had checked herself out hours ago.

That’s when a commotion drags Steph’s attention to the television in the waiting room.  Steph is both overjoyed and weakened by the headline.

TONI STARK BATTLES BOMBERS IN TENNESSEE

 

***

 

Toni is still laughing over WAR MACHINE ROX as she slips out of her stolen car, tugging the ridiculous cowboy hat she stole from Harley down to shield her eyes as she slips through the crowd towards a news truck.

Maybe Toni should be freaking out.  She did just get attacked by two exploding people, nearly leveling the town of Rose Hill.  Or maybe she should feel remorse for bringing those crazies into that town to begin with.

But right now, all Toni feels is _giddy_.  Because it feels so, so good to be back in action.  To have a purpose, a plan, to be needed.  So she chuckles at the “Miss Chattanooga Christmas Beauty Pageant” while also wondering if she has the time to sneak a peek.

Toni slips through the crowd unnoticed, waiting casually until she can sneak into the back of the Chattanooga 5 News van.  She quickly sets to work, checking the broadband speed as her programming loads into the broadcast computers.

“That ain’t gonna cut it,” she mumbles when she sees the speed read at a puny 9.1.

There’s murmured yelling outside the van, then suddenly the back door swings open.  The roady sets his eyes on Toni, huffing a sigh and telling whoever he was yelling at on the phone to hold on.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the kid says, voice bored.  “I don’t know who-“

Toni spins her seat around to face him.  “Shh,” she whispers, holding her finger to her lip.

The kid’s mouth falls open.

“Mom, I need to call you back, something _magical_ is happening,” he mutters into the phone before hanging up.  Toni continues to shush him, but it’s clear the guy is starting to freak out.  “ _Toni Stark is in my van_ ,” he practically squeals, throwing his hands up, giddy.

“ _Shh_ ,” Toni repeats.  “Shush, keep it down.”

“ _Toni Stark is in my van!”_

“No she’s not!”

“I _knew_ you were still alive!” he almost shouts, yanking his hat off in excitement. 

Toni beckons him.  “Come on in,” she whispers.  “Close the door.”

The kid climbs eagerly into the van.

“ _Wow!_ ” the kid gasps once he’s closed the door behind him.  “Can I just say, ma’am,” he pauses to run his fingers through his hair, eyes bulging out of his skull.  “I am your biggest fan.”

“Okay, first, is this your van?” Toni asks.  “Is anyone else gonna come in?”

“No, no no no, just us,” the kid exclaims wildly.

“Great.  What’s your name?”

“Gary.”

Toni stands.  “Gary,” she repeats, offering her hand.  When Garry shakes it, he tries to pull Toni in, presumably for a hug, but Toni is not having it.  “Yeah, right there is fine.”

Gary just mutters, flabbergasted.

“I get a lot of this,” Toni assures him.  “It’s okay.”

“Oh good,” Gary breaths.  “Can I just say?”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know if you can tell but I like…have the biggest crush on you,” Gary admits, eyes wide.

Toni nods.

“I don’t want to make things, like, awkward for you,” Gary says quickly, putting up his hands defensively.

“It’s fine,” Toni grumbles, just wanting to get back to work.

“But I do have to show you,” Gary continues, going to roll up his sleeve.  “ _Boom!_ ”

Toni is staring down at a picture of…

“A naked, Mexican mermaid?” Toni asks, furrowing her brow.

Gary just chuckles.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is that me?” Toni exclaims, pointing at the pin up style tattoo.  She’s not really a fan.  She could have gone her entire life without knowing that Gary from Chattanooga has a tattoo of her naked on his forearm.

“Yeah,” Gary said proudly.  “I mean, I had them do it off of a doll that I made.”

Toni cringes.  That was a mental image that Toni absolutely did not need.  This van is suddenly feeling way too cramped.

“So it’s not like it’s off a picture,” Gary is continuing.  “So it’s a little bit.”

“Yeah,” Toni mumbles, taking a step closer.  Gary gasps as Toni grabs his coat collar.  “Gary, listen to me, okay?”  She moves her hands down so that she’s gripping his arms in a bruising hold, pinning them to his sides.  “I don’t wanna clip your wings here.  We’re both a little…over-excited.”  Gary nods in agreement.  “I got an issue.  I’m chasing bad guys.  I’m trying to grab a little something from some hard-crypt data files.  I don’t have enough juice.  I need you to jump on the roof, right?  Recalibrate the ISDNs.  Pump it up by about 40%.”

“Got it,” Gary whispers, eyes going impossibly wider.

“Alright?  It’s a _mission_.”

Gary nods enthusiastically.

“Toni needs Gary,” Toni says plainly.

“And…Gary needs Toni,” Gary finishes.

“Be quiet about it,” Toni interrupts.

Gary nods, “Yeah.  Yeah.  Okay.”

With that, thank fucking God, Gary takes his naked tattoo and leaves Toni in her peace.


	11. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stony!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to post. I went back to work and then I got another surgery and then I struggled with some serious writer's block for a while, trying to figure out where to go from here. I decided to get to the Stony of the story, I'm sure some of you have been waiting. 
> 
> Also, I have made a shutterfly album with the wonderful fem!avengers fanart that inspires me. You can find it at the below link
> 
> https://photos.shutterfly.com/album/110106439216
> 
> Enjoy!!!

So Pepper needed some time.  That was alright, that was okay, that was to be expected.  Toni could deal.  It’s not like Toni didn’t need her own space.  Toni had kept her promise, she was a genius after all.  It only took her month to nullify the Extremis in Pepper’s body.  And yeah, maybe Toni kept a few vials of blood for further research, but that was her business, and maybe Jen’s (if Jen ever came back). 

The rest of the Amazons had been looking for Toni when she was facing off with Killian.  They had been welcome familiar faces and were more than happy to help with cleaning up the rest of Killian’s thugs.  Of course, Fury threw a fit and they were all recalled and reprimanded.  But it was the sentiment that had counted.  Toni would never admit it out loud, but the thought of someone having her back was really nice.

It’s been three months since Pepper told Toni that she needed some time and space to deal with the fallout of what happened on the rig.  She got on the jet and escaped to the villa in France and the arms of her paramour named Jules.  And that’s fine.  Toni is fine.  Pepper has called a couple of times.  So Toni is totally fine.

Toni’s back in New York.  Her house in Malibu is at the bottom of the ocean now, after all.  And the House Party Protocol had been an inspiration.  Toni is already deep into her plans for the Iron Legion.  And she also has a top psychologist visiting twice a week and Toni’s on some _really_ nice meds.  She doesn’t like to use the words “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder” in that specific order, but Pepper had insisted that Toni get some help and work through her issues before she agrees to come back to the States, so Toni is dealing.

It’s okay.  Toni is okay.

But she’s still relieved when, in early May, JARVIS announces to Toni in her workshop that Captain Rogers is downstairs.

They end up on the roof with a couple bottles of top shelf whiskey and Toni is succeeding in getting Steph drunk, which is no small order.

“So where are Romanoff and Barton?” Toni ends up asking once Steph is polishing off the last of a bottle.

“Clara is on leave,” Steph replies.  “And Nat is on a mission.”

“You didn’t go with her?  I thought you two were conjoined at the hip now.”

Steph snorts, taking a swig of a newly opened bottle.

“Nah,” she says, “she’s on an ‘ _espionage’_ mission.  I’m a soldier, not a spy.”

“There’s a difference?” Toni asks, accepting the bottle as Steph hands it to her.

“Oh yeah.  Espionage takes something that I am very much lacking.”

“And what’s that?”

“Cleavage,” Steph replies, deadpan. 

Toni nearly doubles over laughing.

“It never fails to amaze me that Captain America is witty,” Toni finally gasps when she has the breath.  “You know, Rogers, you’re not half bad.”

“Hey, I keep telling you, it’s all those history books that paint me as straight laced.  I never said I was.”  Steph pauses, taking another drink.  “You know, growing up, everyone always thought that Bucky was the trouble maker.  We’d get caught doing something, and they’d take one look at my ‘angelic’ face and think there was no way I was the mastermind.  Bucky was always taking the fall for me.”

“I can see that,” Toni laughs.

“And we got into _a lot_ of trouble,” Steph continues.  “We used to shark fuckin’ _carnival games_.”

“How in the _hell_ does that work?”

“Mmm,” Steph mumbles before taking a few large gulps as she stares out across the city. “When we were low on cash, we’d get some dates to take us to Coney Island.  We’d get them a little drunk and then convince them to win us some prizes.  Buck and I were real good at some of the games.  So we’d get them to play those games and when they would win, we’d ask them to _teach_ us how to play.  And we’d act all bad, like we didn’t know what we were doin’, and we’d ‘learn’ how to play from them.  And you know fellas, they’ve got the most fragile fuckin’ egos.  So we’d insult them a little bit, ask if they wanted to put some money on a few rounds.  We’d lose a few rounds and then we would start to _clean up_.  We’d keep insultin’ their masculinity and crap and they’d eventually wanna go double or nothin’.”  Toni laughs, noticing the Brooklyn accent that’s starting to come out as Steph gets tipsy.  “We’d take all of their damn money and then just ditch ‘em.  Oh man, they’d get so mad.  Some of ‘em would start to get handsy, they’d catch on or get real angry and Buck would just sock ‘em in the face and we’d take off.”  Steph is laughing now, a faraway look in her eyes.  “God _damn,_ I loved that girl.”

It’s a sentiment that Toni has never heard out loud.  She wonders if anybody has.  Steph doesn’t seem to have noticed, so Toni just nods and doesn’t point it out.

“We’d get asked out all the time by fellas,” Steph is continuing, mind obviously in the past.  “Her _way_ more than me.”  Steph laughs a bit.  “But if a fella ever asked her on a date, she’d make him get a friend to take me too.  The poor lads didn’t know that really it was me and her on the date together, we didn’t give a damn about them.  Buck was a great dancer, she loved swing.  If we went to a dance hall, I loved to watch her dance.  I was _awful_ at dancin’, two left feet.  But sometimes my poor date would convince me to get out on the floor with him.  I was always steppin’ on his toes.  I’d dance with him and Bucky would watch me like a wolf.”  Steph’s voice goes dark, and Toni can hear the sudden arousal in her voice.  “I’d put on a show, get handsy with the fella and he’d perk up.  But the _second_ he’d start touchin’ me back, Bucky would get up and punch the guy in the face.”  Steph laughs.  “I fuckin’ _loved_ it.  It was fuckin’ _foreplay_ for us.  Teasin’ some guys and beating 'em up for responding.  It was terrible but we loved it and we’d go back home and…” Steph trails off, face going red as she suddenly realizes what she’s saying.

“You kinky bitch, Rogers,” Toni laughs, grabbing the half empty bottle from Steph.

Steph is really red now, eyes down.  She stammers weakly, half apologizing, half trying to walk back what she just said.

“Hey, no need to be shy around me, babe,” Toni says, throwing her hands up.  “Trust me.”

Steph glances up, face going impossibly redder.  “Eh,” she argues, “I bet I could tell you some stories that would surprise you.”

Toni’s eyebrows shoot up.  “Well you can’t just tease me like that!” Toni cries.  “Dish!”

Steph is shaking her head vigorously.  “Stark, I see through your game.  Gettin’ me drunk and trying to make me tell you my dirty stories.”

“Is it working?”

“Well I guess so,” Steph replies, voice suddenly going quiet.  “I’ve never told _anybody_ about Buck, not like that.”  She wrings her hands nervously.  “It…it feels good to talk about her.”

Toni chews on her lip, unsure what to say.  Luckily, Steph is already talking again.

“You know they’re expanding the Captain America display?  At the Smithsonian?”

“I heard that.”

“Yeah…I donated most of that stuff you gave me from your dad.”  Toni had kept good on her promise to give Steph all of the stuff from her old apartment that Howard had collected like a weirdo when Steph had gone into the ice.  “Openings in a few weeks,” Steph says, glancing up sheepishly.  “It’d mean a lot if you’d come.”

“You asking me on a date, Rogers?” Toni teases.  Steph sputters, face going red again.  “I’m kidding, Steph.  Of course I’ll come.  The whole team will be there, I’m sure.”

They’re both silent for a moment.  Steph sneakily grabs the bottle from beside Toni again, finishing it off in one go that even watching makes Toni want to throw up.

“That shit is expensive!” Toni cries.  “It’s _sipping_ whiskey, you sip it!”

“I don’t know what the hell that means,” Steph replies, tossing the empty bottle back to Toni. 

“It means that this shit isn’t like the swill you probably drank in the trenches, it’s like $300 a bottle,” Toni chides.

“Yeah, well then you shouldn’t have brought it up here.  I thought we came up here to get drunk.  And I thought that you knew what that meant for me.  I need about five of those bottles to feel it.”

Toni chuckles, reaching for another unopened bottle.

“So how do hangovers work for you?” Toni asks.  “Do you even get them, or are they like super hangovers.”

“Guess we’ll see.”

“Wait?  You haven’t gotten drunk since before 1941?”

“Nobody’s even been willing to supply me with enough alcohol before tonight,” Steph points out.

Toni laughs again, shaking her head as she hands Steph the bottle.

“I’m still holding you to that promise to spar with me tomorrow,” Steph says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Toni mumbles.  “You know, if I followed through on every drunk promise I made to work out the next day, then I’d be as fucking strong as you are, and that’s the fucking truth.”

“Well then, I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Companionable silence falls between them for a few minutes.  They pass the bottle back and forth and look out over the city that never sleeps until the bottle is empty.  Steph is swaying a bit by the time Toni is opening their last bottle.

“You doing alright over there, Cap?” Toni chuckles.

“I’m glad we’re friends,” Steph slurs. 

“Oh good, you’re _that_ kind of drunk,” Toni grumbles.

“I’m serious,” Steph insists.  “I _hated_ you at first.”

“The feeling was mutual.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”  Steph pauses, still staring out across the city.  “But in December, when that shit with what’s his name happened, when your house got fuckin’ blown up…I was really scared for you.”

Toni chews her lip for a moment.  “Come on, I was fine,” she grumbles.

“No really.  You-…you remind me a lot of Buck.  And all I could think when I saw that video was, ‘not Toni too.’”

“Shit, Steph.”  Toni really doesn’t want to get emotional right now, she doesn’t know if she could deal with a crying Captain America.

“I’m just sayin’…I’m glad you’re okay.  And I’m glad Pepper is okay too.”

“Me too.”

“Where is Pepper?”

Toni flinches.  “Uh…she’s in Paris.”

“What’s she doing there?”

“Working…fucking.”

Steph furrows her brow, giving Toni an inquisitive look.

“Are you guys…” Steph asks, trailing off.

“We’re fine, we’re good.  We both just needed some space to recover from all that shit at Christmas.  It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before.”  Steph still looks concerned.  “Really, it’s alright.”

“You guys…aren’t….I mean,” Steph stutters awkwardly.  “You guys… _see_ other people?”

Toni laughs.  “Yeah, we’re open.”

Steph still looks confused.

“Open relationship?” Toni says, but Steph still doesn’t comprehend.  “Man, I always forget that you’re a grandma.  It means we fuck other people.  It’s very…modern.  Well, not _that_ modern.  You missed the seventies.  Free love, swingers, all that jazz.”

As a response, Steph takes a long drink of whiskey.  “That sounds nice,” Steph finally replies.

“You really think so?” Toni asks, genuinely a little shocked.  “I thought you were…more old fashioned than that.”

“Toni, I was a lesbian in the forties.  I’ve got an open mind.”

That makes Toni laugh again.  “Fair point,” she chuckles. 

“So you and Jen?”

“Um…yeah,” Toni replies awkwardly.  “We were sleeping together, when she was here.  Pepper knew.  We tell each other, that’s one of our rules.”

Steph seems to take that into consideration, cocking her head a bit before shrugging and taking another drink.  Toni leans forward to snatch the bottle from her grip.

“So enough about me,” Toni says once she’s swallowed down some more whiskey.  “How about you?  You seeing anyone?”

Steph snorts.  “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Too busy.”

“I don’t believe that for a fucking second.”

Steph drops her gaze and looks at her hands for a long moment.  She takes a deep breath but doesn’t look at Toni.  “I mean…” she begins awkwardly.  “It’s nice, to talk to you about this stuff, you know?  Like it’s nice to say out loud how I felt about Bucky.  I’ve never been able to do that before.  But…”  Steph gulps.  “I’m just afraid that…that if I…if I see someone else…you know…”

“You’re afraid to come out?” Toni offers.  “In public?”

“I just…I don’t want anybody looking into the past and…and questioning.”

“You don’t want people connecting the dots?”

“No, I don’t.  I’m not…ashamed.  Well, maybe a little.  It’s hard to get over.  The way it used to be.  But it’s not the whole lesbian thing that I’m worried about.  I was an officer and Buck was an NCO.  That’s really against the rules.  And I don’t want anybody to…think less of Bucky, you know?”

“I get it,” Toni assures. 

“Maybe one day,” Steph says.  “But I-…I’m not ready yet.  All my friends are spies and super heroes.  And I’m Captain fucking America.  It’s not like I’m meeting a whole lot of people.”

“Well, hey, if you ever want to meet some people, just let me know.  I’ve got VIP access to a whole lot of clubs and bars in the city.  Just say the word.”

Steph laughs weakly.  “That’s not really…my scene.”

Toni shrugs.  “Well if you ever get the urge…”

“Thanks, Toni.”

They fall into silence again.  Steph seems to be thinking about something.  She huffs and glances at her watch.

“You know,” Steph says quietly, “I haven’t actually been to a bar since 1942…”

Toni grins, glancing up at Steph.  “Are you asking me to take you to a bar tonight?” Toni asks excitedly.  “I thought it wasn’t your scene?”

“Nothing…crazy.  But, I’m actually kinda drunk for the first time in a real long time and probably the last time for a while and I feel…restless.”

Toni jumps to her feet, wide earnest grin on her face as she offers her hand to Steph.

“Stephanie fucking Rogers, it would be my genuine pleasure to take you out tonight.”

Steph reflects Toni’s smile as she takes Toni’s hand and gets to her feet.

“Let’s fuckin’ do it.”

 

***

 

It’s been a while since Steph has felt this good.  It’s just past midnight, she’s dressed in a perfectly fitting pair of tailored dress pants, a light blue button up, and silk vest.  Toni insisted on doing her hair and makeup, something that Steph hasn’t had done since the fucking forties.  She’s continued to nurse her buzz, which has taken another bottle of liquor.  And she’s currently riding shotgun in Toni’s bright yellow sports car.  JARVIS is driving, at Steph’s insistence.  Toni holds her liquor well, but Steph is still Steph. 

The car rumbles to a stop outside of a club that has a line at the door.  Steph swallows down her nerves as the butterfly doors open.  She usually truly dislikes feeling like a celebrity, but tonight it’s exhilarating.  The eyes of everyone on the street go to her as she climbs out of the car.  Toni hurries around and hooks her elbow through Steph’s.  Steph lets Toni lead her to the door.  Toni is in her element.  Suave and cocky, red lenses on, dressed in a backless shirt and a pair of leather pants, sky-high heels that make her almost as tall as Steph, and she smells _amazing._ Steph can’t help herself, she leans into her.  And Steph can’t lie, when Toni walks right past a wide-eyed bouncer with a wink, Steph is really fucking turned on.

The club is dark, and true to Toni’s promise, it isn’t anything wild.  It’s actually quite swanky, nicer than any bar Steph has ever been to in her entire life.  There’s a dancefloor on the first floor, but Toni leads Steph up a set of stairs to an area labeled VIP.  They make their way past a few groups, well dressed men and women and their groupies, to a low set table and some red velvet couches.  It’s secluded, no prying eyes or flashing cameras, and Steph is grateful.  A hostess in all black comes by and Toni orders two bottles of vodka and a bottle of champagne.

“Champagne?  Really, Toni?” Steph asks as they sit next to each other on the couch.

“We’re celebrating!” Toni exclaims.

“What are we celebrating, exactly?”

“I don’t fucking know.  Life!  The Amazons!  You, being out, for the first time in like seventy years.”

Steph rolls her eyes but accepts the glass of Moet when it’s handed to her.  Toni calls to the next group over.  Apparently it’s somebody she knows, an artist named Kendrick, a singer.  He comes over and greets them, and he seems ecstatic to meet Steph.  He invites over a couple more people and they all share a drink.  Steph quickly finds herself enjoying herself, and she continues to get herself drunk.  The newcomers are shocked at how much Steph drinks in one go and they all question her about the extent of her abilities before one of them pulls up a video on Steph on their phone, one from the Battle of New York. 

Steph is getting drunk and before she knows it, Toni has convinced her to get onto the dancefloor.

“I can’t dance, Toni,” Steph cries as Toni leads her down the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, everyone says that.  Just follow my lead.”

Toni is a _really_ good dancer, and she gets close to Steph.  The music is pulsing and Steph is drunk and Toni gyrates against her and Steph finds herself putting her hands on Toni’s waist, which only makes Toni get even closer.  And it feels _so fucking good_ to touch somebody, to be close to somebody, and Steph didn’t even realize that she missed it this much.  Desire is pooling low in her stomach and Toni puts her arms around Steph’s shoulders and pulls her closer. 

“I thought you said you can’t dance, Rogers,” Toni says in her ear, voice low and wrecked and obviously feeling the same way Steph does.

“What are we doing, Toni?” Steph asks. 

Toni shrugs.  “Having fun.”

Toni spins Steph, disorienting her, before grabbing her arm and leading her to the bar for more shots.  They attract attention, some people want pictures.  But Steph finds herself not caring, because Toni is still so close and she smells so good and she gives Steph goosebumps when her fingers brush against her thigh or her arms, quickly and lightly, but it keeps Steph winding up and feeling so turned on it almost hurts.  Steph chews on her lip and tries to contain herself, but the alcohol is making her feel warm and Toni is pulling her back out onto the dancefloor.  Their friends from upstairs are suddenly there and Toni is dancing with one of them now, but she keeps making eyes at Steph and it reminds Steph so much of how Bucky used to be.  Provocative and flirty and filthy and using other people to make Steph so fucking thirsty for her.  Steph can’t stop herself from stepping in and grabbing Toni’s hips in an almost bruising grip.

“You want something from me, Rogers?” Toni asks, voice honey soaked and filthy.

Steph can only growl in reply.  It’s feral and it’s so unlike the mask Steph has worn ever since she came out of the ice and it has an immediate effect on Toni.  Steph watches Toni’s pupils widen and she just grinds against Steph harder. 

The world assumes that Stephanie Rogers is demure, innocent, vanilla.  But that’s so far from the truth it’s almost funny.  Because when Steph would fuck Bucky, it was wicked and rough and loud and animalistic and it left marks.  Toni is panting in Steph’s arms, so Steph leans in to whisper in her ear.

“You’re bad,” Steph hisses.  “You know what you’re fucking doing to me.  Was this your plan the whole time?”

Toni’s eyes look shocked but so so turned on and her breathing quickens.  So Steph pulls her close again.

“You have no idea what I want to do to you,” Steph growls.

“Not here,” Toni pants.  She grabs Steph by the hand and they’re working their way through the crowd, back upstairs to their VIP booth and Steph can’t keep her hands off of Toni because she’s let her mask fall away and there is no going back now. 

They barely make it back to the booth before Steph grabs Toni’s face hard and kisses her.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Rogers,” Toni gasps when they pull apart, eyes still closed.  “Fucking, Jesus.  I had no idea you were like this.”

Steph chuckles.  It’s low and feral.  “How many times I gotta tell you,” Steph says darkly, shoving Toni until she stumbles and falls against the couch.  “The fucking history books got me all wrong.”  Steph falls against the couch and immediately pulls Toni into her lap.  Toni groans as they begin to kiss again, hot and heavy and aggressive.  Steph holds Toni in a bruising grip with one hand while the other explores her body before reaching up and grabbing a handful of her dark hair and yanking to expose her neck.  Steph licks and bites over the column of her neck and Toni pants against her.

“Mmm,” Steph moans.  “You smell _so fucking good,_ Toni.”

Toni chuckles weakly.  “You think so?  It’s this perfumed oil I got in Morocco the last time I was there.  I don’t wear it often, I’m almost out of it actually but-“

Steph shuts her up by kissing her hard before mumbling against her lips, “You talk way too fucking much.”

Toni makes a small noise in the back of her throat.  She grinds hard against Steph’s hip, writhing in her lap until Steph grabs her hips again to hold her still as she kisses along her jaw.  Toni lets her hands explore along Steph’s sides, down her muscular abdomen, up along her breasts until Steph’s hands grab Toni’s wrists and twist them until her arms are crossed behind her back.  But that frees Toni’s hips and she starts grinding against Steph again.

It’s filthy and hot and they are both sweating and moaning. 

“Holy shit,” a voice says.

Steph looks up to see one of the people the other booth.  His eyes are wide and he is staring at them in shock.  Immediately, Steph lifts Toni off her lap and gets to her feet.  She closes the distance between her and the man and roughly grabs him by the throat, throwing him hard against the mirrored wall, causing it to crack.  Steph hears Toni laugh.

“You tell anybody about this, and I will fucking hunt you down,” Steph growls.  The guy nods vigorously and Steph releases him so he can scurry away like a frightened rabbit.  Steph turns to where Toni is watching her in awe and arousal.  Steph crosses back to Toni, holding out her hand.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Toni takes her hand, eyes still wide when she mutters, “Yes, ma’am.”

Steph can barely keep her hands off Toni as they make their way back down the stairs and Toni calls JARVIS.  Steph briefly wonders about how Toni is going to pay her tab, but that thought seems unimportant and Steph quickly forgets it.  They stumble through the crowd in a drunken, aroused, desperate stupor.  The yellow sports car is waiting when they get to the curb, and they both practically fall into the passenger seat.  The car is pulling away and they are cramped but Toni shifts until Steph gets into the seat underneath her and Toni straddles Steph’s lap before reaching down and shifting the seat until it is laid all the way back.

JARVIS weaves them through traffic and Steph briefly wonders how often JARVIS has had to do this exact maneuver for Toni.  But Steph can’t care about that for too long because Toni’s hungry mouth is on hers and Toni is stripping out of her shirt and quickly unbuttoning Steph’s.  JARVIS plays something low and full of bass and it’s sexy and spurring and Steph notices the windows black out and Steph is floored for a moment by the absolute genius of the woman currently gyrating in her lap.

It feels _so fucking good_ to have her hands on somebody, to feel hands on her.  Steph didn’t realize how much she had missed it.  To be honest, she’s always been a bit of a nympho.  She wasn’t lying when she told Toni that she was the trouble maker.  She was almost always the one working Bucky up, initiating something furtive and desperate.  Even when she was the one most worried with getting caught.  That fear didn’t lower her libido one bit.  In fact it usually made her even more hungry for Bucky, knowing that it was something forbidden.

Toni’s warm skin is pressed all along Steph’s body and she’s writhing in her lap to the beat of the music playing.  Steph’s hand moves along Toni’s muscular back and wraps itself in her dark hair.  Steph tugs hard and Toni makes an absolutely wrecked sound.

“Harder,” Toni gasps.

“What?” Steph asks, a bit dumbfounded.  Honestly, she was rarely the rough one during sex.  That was always Bucky’s forte, Steph was usually on the receiving end.  But Toni’s eyes are pleading and Steph feels something manic and animalistic burning just underneath her skin, so she shifts and tugs back harder, shifting them gracefully and slamming Toni down against the seat.

Steph towers over Toni and Toni’s eyes go wide.  Steph releases her for a moment and leans close to her ear.

“You want it rough?” she growls.

Toni begins to nod.

“Say it,” Steph demands.

“I-I want it rough.”

Steph’s hand goes to Toni’s throat and she begins to kiss and lick her way down Toni’s body, being careful to not let her strength go.  She doesn’t want to hurt Toni. 

“You’re fucking pants are so fucking tight,” Steph exclaims, frustrated.  Toni laughs weakly and Steph releases her throat.

“Um,” is all Toni can manage. 

Luckily, the car is pulling to a stop in the garage of Amazon Tower and JARVIS announces that they’re arrived home.  The door opens and they both practically fall out.  They race towards the elevator and Toni tells JARVIS to take them to her floor before turning back to Steph and grabbing her face in her hands and matching their mouths together again.  Steph leans forward, reaching down to grip Toni’s thighs and lifting her bodily into the air.

Toni gasps against Steph’s mouth.

“I could get used to this whole super strength thing,” Toni pants.

Steph chuckles.  “I’m sure you could.”

When the elevator stops, Steph carries Toni onto her floor.  They don’t make it past the first couch, Steph drops Toni onto the cushions and Toni pulls Steph after her.  Toni reaches down and shimmies out of her leather pants, leaving her in nothing but a black lace thong.  Steph sits up for a moment just to appreciate all the long angles and smooth planes of Toni’s body.  Steph knows that Toni has been compulsively working out since New York, and it definitely shows.  She’s peppered with scars from her many battles as Iron Woman, but luckily Steph has a bit of a scar kink.  So Steph leans down and lavishes each scar she can see with her mouth, taking especially along the thick, pink, fresh scar in the center of Toni’s chest where the arc reactor once sat.  Her hand wanders back up Toni’s body and wraps around her throat again.

Toni is writhing underneath her and Steph makes her way down her body, biting along her hip bone, moving down her thighs, peppering them with bite marks.  Each time Steph bites down, Toni moans load and dirty.

“Oh shit,” Steph breaths.  “I forgot to ask if you’re alright with marks.”

Toni nods vigorously, so Steph releases her throat so she can speak.  “Yes, _please_ ,” she moans.

Steph leans back in, biting down hard on the inside of Toni’s thigh.  Toni screams and lurches, before falling back with a moan.  Steph smiles wickedly, and goes back for the same spot, biting it again, but not as hard.  Toni moans again and her hands scramble desperately until she gets her hand around Steph’s wrist and presses Steph’s hand back against her throat.  Steph smiles against her skin and resumes her hold of her throat.

Steph bites hard on the same spot, making Toni yelp and jerk, but Steph just squeezes harder on Toni’s throat and Toni squeaks and goes quiet.  Steph licks and kisses her way towards Toni’s pussy, leaning in and running her tongue along Toni.  Toni writhes in Steph’s grip, and she uses her other hand to smack Toni’s hip hard before grabbing it in a bruising grip.

“Stay still,” Steph demands.

“Yes, ma’am,” Toni wheezes.  Steph loosens her grip on Toni’s throat, but Toni just shakes her head and grabs Steph’s wrist.  So Steph tightens her hold again. 

Steph leans forward and runs her tongue along Toni’s dripping pussy again. 

“You taste as good as you smell,” Steph observes.  Toni withers under Steph’s consideration, grinding her body down into the cushions. 

Steph leans back down, licking along Toni again before moving her tongue about to find her clit.  She knows she’s in the right place when Toni jerks hard and makes a high pitches noise in her throat.  So Steph stays at that spot for a long moment, pursing her lips and sucking hard.  Toni shudders, so Steph smacks her again and pulls away.

“I said stay still,” Steph chides.

Toni nods vigorously and stills. 

“Good girl,” Steph purrs.  When she does, Toni’s body erupts with goosebumps.  Steph smiles wickedly before leaning forward again.

Steph releases her hold on Toni’s throat.  Toni makes a protesting sound, but Steph taps her side.

“Turn over, on your hands and knees,” Steph directs.

“Yes, ma’am,” Toni replies breathlessly before complying.

Steph isn't used to being this dominant.  She's never been called "ma'am" in bed before.  Although, she's certainly used to the title, being an officer and all.  But somehow, hearing it in Toni's breathless voice makes Steph feel warm and powerful and turned on.  It's definitely something she can get used to.

Toni takes her time, moving with grace that Steph didn’t know that she had.  She arches her back and makes a display of situating herself on her knees and elbows.  Steph feels her throat go dry, and she can’t stop herself from reaching out and running her hand along Toni’s spine, which makes the brunette shiver.  Once Toni has stopped writhing, Steph moves forward immediately, licking up along Toni’s pussy long and slow.  Toni lets out a soft sigh at the contact.

Steph doesn’t let Toni get used to the slow pace.  She had said she had wanted it rough, after all, and Steph can do rough.  So Steph immediately shifts, folding herself over along Toni’s back and wrapping a muscular arm around Toni’s throat in a choke hold.  Toni sputters when Steph yanks back, pulling Toni up onto her knees.  Once they are upright, Steph wraps her other arm around Toni’s midsection, hand cupping her left breast and pulling them flush.  Toni gasps at the sudden shift but doesn’t protest.

Steph cranes her neck, pulling Toni back harder so she can look at Toni’s face.  There is sweat on her forehead.  Her eyes are screwed shut and her teeth are bared.  Steph loosens her grip on her.

“Open your eyes,” Steph says softly.

Toni takes a few deep breaths before she opens her eyes.  They’re bright, the brown looking amber, and her pupils are blown.  She glances nervously over at Steph.

“You alright?” Steph asks gently.

Toni scoffs.  “Of course I am.  Jesus, I’m not breakable.  Will you just fuck me already?!”

Steph laughs, short and hard and wicked, before she shifts their bodies again.  In one swift move, she leverages Toni, shoving her face down against the cushions and using her other arm to bend her at the waist.  Without a second in between, Steph shoves two fingers into Toni, shoving her own hips behind her hand in a hard thrust.  Toni shouts at the intrusions, but it tapers into a moan.

Steph shifts her weight so that her left foot is on the ground, lifting herself slightly.  She keeps her right hand on the back of Toni’s neck, pushing her into the cushions, forcing her to arch her back sharply.  Toni’s hands scramble for the arm of the couch, trying to gain purchase and leverage, but Steph is too heavy and too strong.  Steph has to stop herself from losing track of how hard she’s pushing, how much strength she is putting into her actions.  She pauses, taking a deep breath and scissoring her fingers while she lessens her weight and strength on Toni.  Toni twists her hips impatiently, so Steph obliges and begins to pump her fingers in and out of Toni.  Toni sighs softly at the movement, and her body begins to relax, bit by bit.

Steph pulls her fingers almost all the way out before using the weight of her hips behind her hand to shove them back in.  Toni yelps.  Steph keeps up that pace, rocking her own clit against her thumb as she uses her hips to thrust her two fingers in and out of Toni.  The pace she begins at is rough and punishing and Toni gasps and moans in pleasure.  Steph turns her hand palm down to run her finger along Toni’s G-spot as she thrust in and out.

Steph keeps up that pace for a few minutes, until Toni’s moans get gradually more high pitched and Steph can feel her pussy begin to tighten.  So Steph leans forward, wrapping her arm around Toni’s throat again to yank her up onto her knees again.  She shifts their weight and adds another finger.  Toni shouts, and Steph begins to pump her fingers in and out even faster, twisting her wrist to rub her thumb over Toni’s clit, making Toni lurch.  Steph tightens the grip one Toni’s throat.  She knows that she’s getting close.

“You gonna come?” Steph breaths in Toni’s ear.

“Yes, ma’am,” Toni croaks, the pressure on her windpipe making it hard for her to reply.  Steph considers releasing her for a moment, but then Toni throws her head back and reaches up with shaky hands to push on Steph’s forearm.  Steph obliges and tightens her grip.

That does it.  Muscles all across Toni’s body begins to spasm, and her body tightens around Steph’s fingers.  Toni opens her mouth wide, but no sound comes out.  Steph watches her blissed out face with rapture.  She’s gushing around Steph’s fingers, so Steph slows her thrusting down considerably.  Toni entire body tightens for one long moment and then she collapses, limp. 

Steph releases her hold around Toni’s throat, but wraps her other arms around her middle again to catch her.  Toni gasps hard before she begins to pant as she falls back against Steph’s chest.  Steph shifts, bringing her legs up on each side of Toni and leaning back against the arm of the couch, pulling Toni with her.  They lay back, Toni drenched in sweat and panting, for a long time.  Several minutes pass until Toni’s breathing slows.  Toni turns in Steph’s hold so that they are chest to chest and Toni pushes herself up on shaky arms to look at Steph critically for a moment.

“Tell me that isn’t the first lay you’ve had since the forties,” Toni demands weakly.

Steph can only laugh, taking it as the compliment that she knows it is intended to be.  Because no, Steph hasn’t fucked anyone since the forties.  But that was one hell of a welcome back party.  So Steph just nods her head.

“Well then,” Toni says.  And then she’s shifting her weight, moving down Steph’s body.  Steph lets her unbutton her pants and roll them down her legs until Steph can kick them free.  “I assume there are some things that you miss,” Toni says with a devilish wink before she pulls Steph’s underwear off and leverages both on Steph’s knees up over Toni’s shoulders.

Toni’s devil tongue is as skilled at this as it is as witty remarks.  Steph grips the back of Toni’s head with both hands and Toni reaches up to grab and squeeze Steph’s breast.  Steph rolls her hips up against Toni’s mouth as Toni’s sharp fingers begin to move inside of her.  Steph was already pretty close so Toni makes quick work of her, emerging five minutes later with a wicked grin on her face as she immediately crawls up Steph’s body to kiss her deeply so Steph can taste herself on Toni’s lip.  Steph licks along Toni’s lips and chin and Toni chuckles a bit when she pulls away.

“Well, well,” Toni says with a twinkle in her eye.  “Add that to one more thing that surprises me about Captain America: Stephanie Rogers is kinky as fuck.”

“Is that what kids call it these days?” Steph laughs, rolling her eyes.

“Seriously, you’re corrupt, Rogers.  We should get the writers of the Captain America cartoon on the line.”

“Right,” Steph replies, “I’m sure you’ll get right on that.”

Toni laughs, shifting off of Steph and getting to her feet.  She stretches elegantly, catlike, before running her hair through her hands a few times before yanking it up into a ponytail with the holder around her wrist.  Steph just watches, enraptured on the couch until Toni opens one eye of look at Steph suspiciously.  Steph blushes and drops her gaze, but that only makes Toni laugh some more.

“Alright, Stars and Stripes,” Toni says, reaching down to grab up her own pants and underwear.  “I’m taking a shower.  Care to join?”

Steph smiles, the weight of what she just did suddenly settling on her.  She’s not been with anyone since Bucky, anyone really _besides_ Bucky.  And, for a while, Steph _hated_ Toni, a feeling that was apparently mutual.  Steph would have never in a million years guessed that she would be in the spot she was currently, Toni naked and asking to shower together, right after they fucked on her couch.  She can’t decide how to feel about it all.  Somehow, guilt doesn’t feel right.  In fact, despite her best efforts, she can’t feel anything but positive about the whole experience.

But there is still something uncomfortable that Steph can’t shake.  She had thought of Toni as a friend.  She might have noticed, arbitrarily, that she’s quite attractive.  And they had bonded that night on the roof.  But to be honest, Steph had absolutely no intention of taking things to this level with Toni.  She wonders if Toni had planned this or if she was just as surprised.  But then again, does Toni Stark really plan anything? 

Toni must notice the way Steph’s face has screwed up.  She rolls her eyes, throwing her pants right at Steph’s face.

“I know that look,” Toni says.  “You’re overthinking things.  Don’t.”

Steph heaves in a sigh but takes Toni’s advice, throwing her pants back at Toni before Steph gets up and collects her own clothing, leaving them on a chair to retrieve tomorrow, and following Toni down the hallway.

For tonight, Steph can do what Toni asked.  She won’t overthink this.  She’ll just let whatever is happening happen for the time being.  But tomorrow, well tomorrow she can’t make any promises.


	12. Stuck in the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writer block has been a BITCH lately. Here's a short interim chapter. Let me know if you have suggestions or things you'd like to see happen. I'm having such a block rn that I'm open to suggestions!

Rumlow sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair.  He knows that Pierce is trying to intimidate him.  But Brock Rumlow is a hard man to intimidate.  As far as he is concerned, Pierce is just another polished politician.  Maybe, a long time ago, he had technically been a SHIELD agent.  Pierce had taken great lengths to maintain his cover as a covert Hydra operative.  But he had rarely seen any field time.  And when he had, his ass had to be saved by Nicole fucking Fury.  For the most part, Pierce just had a silver tongue that he had put to great use through his entire life.  Rumlow had very little respect for men like that.  Pierce may be his boss, and one of the heads of Hydra, and Rumlow will respect a man’s position.  But that doesn’t mean that he has to respect the man. 

“All I’m trying to say is that I don’t trust Rogers.  She’s smart and the longer she’s around, the bigger threat she poses,” Rumlow repeats.

“And I’ve told you, before, Agent Rumlow, your job is only to observe and report.  I don’t want or care for your opinion on the matter,” Pierce says, rubbing his eyes with frustration.

“Look, I’m good at my job.  And Rogers is…reckless.  I mean, she jumped off the fucking Willis Tower for God’s sake.  It would not be difficult for me to take her out.  I wouldn’t even have to do anything.  She seems to have a death wish.”

“I said no, Rumlow,” Pierce snaps.

“Why are you so fucking scared of Nicole Fury?  She’s one person.  I don’t know why you didn’t have the Soldier take her out years ago.  Instead, you sat around and let her assemble her team of freaks, let her _find_ Rogers in the first place-“

Pierce interrupts Rumlow by slamming his fist down on the table.  “You are toeing a line, Agent,” Pierce growls.

Rumlow rolls his eyes and throw up his hands in defense.

“You seem to underestimate Director Fury, something that I made the mistake of doing many years ago.  You have no idea of the secrets that woman keeps.  Taking her out would do nothing for our cause.  I’m so sick of explaining myself to idiots like you and Sitwell.  We wait,” Pierce finishes, matter-of-factly. 

Rumlow rolls his eyes again, looking around the underground office with an annoyed line across his forehead.  “Okay, well,” Rumlow says finally.  “Rogers went to New York yesterday.  I didn’t find out until she was gone.  Fury authorized it.  My STRIKE Team is in Green cycle right now.”

“Then where is Agent Romanoff?”

Rumlow shrugs.  “You know that she doesn’t work for me.  She’s Fury’s lapdog.”

Pierce huffs angrily. 

“Fine, Agent Rumlow, you’re dismissed.”

Rumlow immediately stands.  He isn’t going to stick around and talk to Pierce one more second than he needs to.  He marches out of the office and turns sharply to head towards the elevators.  He knows that his team is downstairs cleaning weapons at the moment.  When he gets into the elevator, the voice asks him what floor.  Without thinking about it, he says B-15.

Brock has always had a bit of a sick fascination with the Winter Soldier.  Ever since he had been recruited to Hyrda, he had worked to ensure he was assigned to the Soldier’s detail.  She’s been shelved for the last few years, ever since Rogers was recovered.  So Rumlow had been given a STRIKE team and assigned to keep tabs of Rogers.  But that didn’t mean he was above using his clearance every once in a while.

Brock knows that the Soldier is thawed every six months at a minimum, for what the scientists call “maintenance.”  It usually involves ensuring there hasn’t been any damage to the Soldier’s internal organs from being frozen, and installing whatever updates they might have to her programming or metallic arm.  If she isn’t being sent on mission, they will keep her sedated for the entire thing. 

Today is one such of those days, and Brock knows that.  So when he gets off on the cryo floor, he walks automatically towards the end of the hall to the surgical suite.  The viewing room is empty, so once Brock has his retina scanned to gain access, he is alone when he gets to the one-sided glass.

In the room below, the Soldier is laid out on a table, heavy metallic restraints keeping her down in case she wakes up, which is something that has apparently happened several times before.  Something about metabolism, Brock was told.  On one side, a team of engineers have the metallic arm almost completely taken apart, only the upper arm area remains.  On the other side, two surgeons are bent over the Soldier’s cut open abdomen. 

The Soldier herself has most of her face covered with a breathing mask and tubes.  Her still frozen hair is matted underneath her head.  Other than that, she has nothing on.  Brock chews on his lip for a few minutes before marching across the room to the door, twisting the bolt to lock the door.  He steps back up to the glass, reaching down to unzip his pants so that he can free his already straining cock.  One hand on the glass, he lets memories of her blank eyes staring at the wall behind him as he pinned her to the table the last time she had been awake bring him to full arousal.

The Winter Soldier fascinates Rumlow because she was a lethal killing machine, a perfect weapon.  But she’s also an empty head and a hot body that Rumlow has taken use of plenty of times before.  He was hardly the first one, but once he took over her detail, he had made sure that he was the only one.  Pierce, the Soldier’s handler, knew about it.  But he usually turned a blind eye, because anything to keep the Soldier in line was fine by him.  Rumlow could appreciate him for very little but he could definitely be appreciative to Pierce for that much.

On the table below, the Soldier’s mind isn’t as empty as Rumlow thinks it is.  In fact, right now, it’s quite active.

_Steph had moved out of their apartment when Bucky left for training.  Bucky had been sending most of her paychecks to Steph, but Steph had decided to move into a women’s home that was within walking distance to the diner that she was now working at.  Bucky’s been home for a week now and Steph has still refused to see her.  That doesn’t mean that Bucky still doesn’t try, every single day, dressed in her Army issued uniform.  Bucky had been issued a skirt, but she would be damned if anyone would catch her in a fucking skirt, so she had used some of her money to buy herself a pair of men’s pants that didn’t exactly fit her well, but were a whole hell of a lot more comfortable.  She got looks on the street.  People weren’t used to seeing a woman in a uniform.  But Bucky had spent four months training hard.  First, she had been to basic training and had fought with her command until they allowed her to train with the men, instead of the much watered down training they had intended for the women.  She had proven herself enough there to get her sent to the three weeks of sniper training.  Then she had gone to another month and a half of highly specialized training on espionage and code breaking.  She had earned the damned uniform, so she was going to fucking wear it._

_The uniform didn’t do much to endure Bucky to Steph’s landlady, who sat at a desk in the lobby of the building and seemed to get off on telling Soldiers that they couldn’t go upstairs to see their gals.  Even when Bucky told the lady that she was just a friend, the woman had called up to Steph and Steph had flat out refused, every day for a week, to allow Bucky up._

_It was Monday, and it was the eighth day in a row that Bucky had been turned away at the Penderton Women’s Home.  Bucky is shipping out tomorrow morning and she’s starting to feel a bit desperate.  She hasn’t seen Steph yet, hasn’t had the chance to apologize for her jackass letter that she had sent.  Tonight, Bucky is supposed to go to the Stark Expo  with some of her friends from training.  But she’s seriously considering skipping out so that she can sneak through the window of Steph’s room so that, at the very least, she can apologize and see Steph one last time (maybe for the last time, a small voice tells her, and it makes her sorta terrified)._

_Frustrated, downtrodden, and jittery, Bucky is walking down the street fuming at that cranky old landlady, and at Steph, for not letting her up.  All she wants is to apologize for being a boneheaded idiot.  But now she’s so afraid that she won’t get to even see Steph before she ships out to the fucking front lines to act as a spy in hostile territory.  The terrifying thought that she may never see Steph again has Bucky sweating through her wool uniform, even though it’s early October and the weather is already turning chilly._

_Bucky is walking past the Turner Theater when she hears a scuffle coming from the alleyway._

_“You just don’t know when to give up, do ya?” she hears someone scoff._

_“I can do this all day.”_

_Bucky’s heart stops, because she knows that voice.  Before she even knows what she’s doing, she’s doing what she’s done a hundred times before.  There’s a clatter, and by the time Bucky is around the corner, Steph is sprawled out, face between two trash cans.  The jackass in an ugly yellow shirt and black leather jacket has a cocky look on his face.  Steph shifts to get up and the guy raises his fist.  Bucky is there though, and she grabs the guy hard, bringing her knee up to the soft spot on the back of his thigh, causing him to buckle as she throws him into the wall._

_“Hey!” Bucky snarls at him.  “You gonna hit a girl?!  Pick on someone your own size!”_

_The guy recovers, turning with a fist raised.  But he’s sloppy, and Bucky easily decks him in the face, kicking him down the street for good measure.  The guy hits the ground, scrambles to his feet before rushing away._

_“You gonna go tell your friends that you got your ass kicked by a girl?!” Bucky calls after him before turning towards where Steph has gotten to her feet.  Her stockings are torn at the knees and her blue skirt is stained.  There’s some blood at the corner of her mouth.  Her hands are on her knees and she stares up at Bucky cautiously from under her blond bangs.  “Sometimes, I think you like getting punched,” Bucky says as a way of hello._

_Steph drops her gaze, catching her breath.  “I had him on the ropes,” she says, refusing to meet Bucky’s eyes._

_Bucky smiles because that’s something she’s heard too many times before._

_Bucky bends down and snatches up an enlistment form off the ground before Steph can notice that it’s fallen from her pocket.  She unfolds it.  A big 4F stares back at her._

_“How many times is this?” Bucky asks, but Steph still won’t look at her.  Steph’s face does go red though.  It’s not like Bucky doesn’t know that Steph has been trying everything she can think of to follow Bucky into war.  “Oh, you’re from Paramus now?” Bucky observes.  “You know it’s illegal to lie on the enlistment form?  And seriously, Jersey?”_

_Bucky holds the form out to Steph, and she snatches it from Bucky’s fingers with a huff of annoyance._

_Steph finally catches her breath now, and she stands up straight, finally forcing herself to look at Bucky.  For a long moment, she just looks Bucky up and down, taking in her olive green uniform.  She chews her lip for a second, still not meeting Bucky’s eyes._

_“You get your orders?” Steph finally says._

_Bucky shifts her weight, rolling her shoulders back a bit.  “The 107 th.  Sergeant Jamie Barnes.”  She can’t help the pride in her voice, even though she knows that Steph will probably hate it.  But getting any kind of real rank as a woman is a struggle and Bucky isn’t going to pretend to be humble.  “Shipping out for England as a nurse, first thing tomorrow.”_

_Steph nods vaguely, staring at Bucky’s nameplate on her chest.  She scoffs bitterly, dropping her gaze to the ground.  “I should be going,” she grumbles.  Steph wipes her hands on her skirt before finally meeting Bucky’s eyes._

_It’s small and quick, but Steph smiles._

_Bucky’s face cracks with a grin.  Steph steps in closer to her and Bucky is filled with sudden relief.  Bucky throws her arms around Steph, pulling her in close for a hug.  Steph hesitates at first but reciprocates._

_“Come on, Steph,” Bucky says, pulling away but keeping one arm slung around Steph’s narrow shoulders.  “It’s my last night.  We should get you cleaned up.”_

_Steph shrugs out of Bucky’s grip, eyes back on the ground.  “Why, where are we going?”_

_Bucky can’t help but continue to grin at the word “we,” so relieved to see Steph.  She holds out the newspaper in her hands._

_“The future.”_

_Steph unfolds it.  “THE WORLD EXPOSITION OF TOMORROW” reads the headline.  Steph glances up at Bucky, cocking an eyebrow._

_“Really?” Steph asks._

_“Yeah, some of my friends want to check it out.  It’s supposed to be fun!”_

_Steph just rolls her eyes.  “This doesn’t mean I forgive you, Buck,” she says quietly._

_Bucky turns abruptly, grabbing Steph by the arm to swing her towards her._

_“Hey,” Bucky says, forcing Steph to look up at her.  “I’m a jackass, alright?”  Steph huffs but doesn’t look away.  “I was scared, Steph.  Scared and stupid.”_

_“Well, at least we can agree on that,” Steph grumbles._

_“Yeah, we can.  Okay?  I’m a huge idiot.”  Bucky sighs and drops her gaze.  “I’m really sorry.  There ain’t no me without you.  It was a chickenshit move on my part.  I told you…a long time ago…till the end of the line.  I meant that.”_

_Steph turns to stare out at the street, at the cars and people passing by, for a very long moment.  Finally, she looks back at Bucky._

_“You know I can’t stay mad at you, Buck,” she finally says.  Bucky grins wide again, and it makes Steph smile.  “I love you too much,” Steph adds quietly._

_Bucky grabs Steph and pulls her towards her in a tight hug, one that Steph returns with commitment this time.  Bucky kisses the top of her head before releasing her._

_“I love you too, punk,” Bucky says fondly.  Steph smiles bashfully, glancing around again as if she was afraid someone is going to chide them on that quick display of affection.  But nobody does._

_“Fine,” Steph says with a sigh.  “I’ll go with you tonight.  And I’ll…think about forgiving you.”_

_Bucky throws her arm around Steph’s shoulder again, guiding her out onto the sidewalk._

_“That’s all I need.”_

_Bucky gets them sandwiches at the diner while Steph goes to clean herself up and change into something that isn’t torn and dirty.  They grab a cab to take them to the expo, and on the ride they eat their lunch and Steph probes for details about Bucky’s training.  Even though Bucky had written her a letter every week, already regaling the details, she still repeats them for Steph now because she knows that Steph is curious, and extremely jealous.  Bucky asks Steph again how many times she’s tried to enter the force since Bucky’s been gone, but Steph refuses to tell her the exact number._

_“That bad, huh?” Bucky teases, and Steph goes red before changing the subject._

_By the time they get to the expo and finally find Bucky’s friends, it’s dark.  Sergeant Smiels and Corporal Huston call out for Bucky and wave from the foot of the statue they had agreed to meet under.  They both have funnel cakes in their hands, licking sugar off their fingers before Bucky introduces them to Steph.  They’re both enthusiastic about meeting Steph, as neither of them have girlfriends to speak of, and Steph just glares at Bucky for throwing her to the wolves._

_They walk around the expo, the other two soldiers considerably more excited about it than Bucky or Steph.  Instead, Bucky constantly tries to elicit a smile from Steph, but they are few and far between tonight.  She still seems to be brooding and Bucky quickly regrets coming to the expo.  It was stupid of her.  She should have just spent the night talking to Steph, being alone with her._

_But Bucky Barnes rarely makes smart decisions, that’s for damn sure.  Instead, they make their way through the crowds of people, looking at all the displays as everyone oohs and ahs at “the future.”  Smiels and Huston quickly grow tired of trying to pick up on a sour Steph and instead turn their attention to the many other women in the crowd.  Steph follows along behind them, looking sullen and distracted._

_“Hey, it’s starting!” Smiels calls, suddenly rushing towards a growing crowd near a stage._

_“Ladies and Gentlemen!” a woman calls over a microphone.  “Mr. Howard Stark!”_

_There are chorus girls in top hats in front of a car on the stage.  Howard Stark strolls out, a cocky grin on his face, handing his own top hat to a brunette before yanking her in for a kiss.  Bucky sees Steph scoff out of the corner of her eye._

_They watch as Stark demonstrates his flying car.  Bucky finds herself actually enjoying the show, though not as much as Smiels and Huston, who whoop and shout when the car leaves the ground.  The crowd gasps, then cheers, even when the car drops back to the stage and Stark, charming as ever, laughs it off._

_When Bucky turns around, Steph is gone._

_It’s not hard to figure out where she’s gone.  The recruitment office is at the other end of the pavilion.  Bucky tells Smiels and Huston to meet them at the dance hall and goes shoving through the crowd after Steph.  When she finally catches up to her, Bucky shoves Steph on the shoulder to get her attention._

_“Come on, we’re going dancing,” Bucky insists.  Steph only glances back, before looking back up at the poster she had been staring at._

_“You go ahead,” Steph answers quietly.  “I’ll catch up with you.”_

_Bucky sighs heavily, and Steph finally turns around to face her._

_“You really gonna do this?” Bucky asks weakly.  Steph looks at the ground._

_“Well it’s a fair,” Steph says.  “I’m gonna try my luck.”_

_“As who?  Stephanie from Ohio?!” Bucky snaps, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.  “They’ll catch you, or worse they’ll actually take you.”_

_Steph looks up at her, suddenly furious._

_“Look, I know you don’t think I can do this-“ Steph begins, but Bucky cuts her off._

_“This isn’t a back alley, Steph.  It’s war.”_

_“I know it’s a war,” Steph replies weakly.  “You don’t have to tell me-“_

_“Why are you so keen on this?!” Bucky cries.  “There are so many important jobs!”_

_“What do you want me to do?  Keep working as a waitress and collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?”_

_“_ Yes! _” Bucky practically shouts.  “Why not?!”_

_“I’m not gonna sit around in a diner, Bucky!” Steph snaps.  “Bucky, come on.”_

_“What?!”_

_“There are people laying down their lives,” Steph replies, voice going low, making Bucky fall silent.  “You’re risking your life.  I got no right to do any less than that.  That’s what you don’t understand.”_

_Steph is bitter, and sad.  Bucky breaths in sharp through her nose, looking down at her shined shoes.  She chews her lip.  This isn’t how she wanted this night to go, her last night, maybe ever, with Steph.  She didn’t want to fight more.  But Bucky can’t stomach the idea of thinking that Steph would be put in harm’s way, when she’s already so small and weak.  Bucky could never say that to Steph’s face.  She knows how prideful Steph is, how determined she is to contribute.  Bucky wants to grab her, to kiss her right her in front of everyone, to beg her to stop this fool’s errand.  She wants to tell her that Steph is her entire life, her everything, and she can’t stand the thought of losing her.  Hell, that’s what possessed her to write that stupid letter in the first place.  But Bucky knows that she would be a hypocrite is she said any of that.  Bucky was the first one in line when the War Office put out a call for qualified women to serve in covert positions in the war effort.  And Steph had had her back every step of the way.  So Bucky stays silent._

_“This isn’t about me,” Steph finally says._

_“Right,” Bucky replies flatly.  “Cuz you got nothin’ to prove.”_

_Silence falls between them.  They both avoid each other’s eyes for a long moment._

_“Hey, Sarge!  We going dancing!” Smiels calls from somewhere behind them._

_“Yes we are!” Bucky calls over her shoulder.  She looks back at Steph who is staring at her with an unreadable expression on her face.  Bucky chews her lip.  “Come dancing with us,” Bucky pleads._

_Steph sighs, glancing back at the poster._

_“Please,” Bucky says, feeling desperate and afraid all of a sudden._

_“I don’t feel like dancing tonight, Buck,” Steph replies bitterly._

_“Come on, Bucky!” Huston calls._

_“You’re friends are waiting,” Steph points out._

_Bucky stares at Steph for a long moment._

_“Don’t do anything stupid till I get back,” Bucky tells her, starting to turn._

_“How can I?” Steph says, with a small smile.  “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”_

_Bucky grins at that.  Steph looks at her with a dare in her eyes.  Bucky immediately closes the space between them.  She wants to grab Steph, to kiss her.  And Steph looks like she might feel the same way.  But they can’t, not here._

_“You’re a punk,” Bucky points out._

_“Jerk,” Steph retorts, but she’s pulling Bucky into a hug._

_Bucky sighs._

_“Please,” Bucky breaths in Steph’s ear.  “I’ll get rid of those two.  It won’t be hard, they’re already chasin’ skirt.  Just…wait here for me?”_

_Steph pulls away with a small nod.  Bucky smiles encouragingly, hoping beyond hope that Steph will stay right here and wait for her._

_“Okay?” Bucky prods._

_Steph doesn’t meet her eye, but she nods._

_Bucky smiles but Steph is still staring at the ground.  So Bucky turns and strides over to where her friends are waiting.  They head towards the dance hall, which is near the edge of the park.  When Bucky glances back, Steph is still standing in the lobby of the recruitment office, staring at posters._

_When they get to the dance hall, it doesn’t take long for Smiels and Huston to find some girls who want to dance.  They ride Bucky until she agrees to one dance.  It’s swing and Bucky can’t lie, she loves to swing.  So she stays for one dance before she tells the fellas that she is going to go find Steph._

_Steph isn’t in the lobby of the recruitment office when she gets back.  So Bucky waits.  The longer she waits, the more panicked she starts to get.  She quickly gets restless, so she stops the MP at the front and asks if he’s seen a small, skinny girl in a red skirt.  He says he hasn’t, so Bucky does a lap around the expo, looking for blonde curls._

_It’s been almost two hours when Bucky gets back to the Recruitment office to find their doors closed and locked.  So Bucky stands outside the doors for another hour, checking her watch and watching the hour get closer and closer to midnight.  By the time the announcement over the loud speakers says that the pavilion is closing for the night, Bucky feels like she’s about to cry._

_Back at the women’s home, the hook-nosed landlady says that Steph hasn’t been home yet tonight.  Bucky waits outside the home until the landlady chases her away.  Bucky checks the diner, the recruitment office down the street, and even the hospital before she decides to call the local War Office to ask if Steph’s been arrested for falsifying enlistment documents.  But it’s all to no avail._

_Eventually, the sun is coming up.  Bucky is dog tired and she has to be at the port at 0800.  So she returns to the barracks and packs her bags and goes to wait with all the other Soldiers in the area designated for everyone saying goodbye to their loved ones._

_Steph never shows._

_So Bucky Barnes goes to war unsure if Steph is hurt or in trouble, or if she simply just doesn’t care enough to tell Bucky goodbye._

***

 

Steph wakes from a dream she can’t remember.  She shifts and stretches, and when she does, her fingers brush against the warm body of someone else.  Immediately, Steph panics, leaping from the bed.  It takes her a few moments and some deep breathing to take in her surroundings and remember where she is.

A room, decorated with dark blues and greys.  A low sitting, California king sized bed.  Toni.  Toni’s bed.  Toni’s room.  New York.  Steph is in New York, in Amazon Tower.  And she was asleep in Toni’s bed.  Because she slept with Toni.

Shit.  She had sex with Toni.

Steph jumping from the bed had jostled Toni awake, and she’s currently grumbling, face in the pillow, saying something to JARVIS. 

“It’s 6:37 am, ma’am,” JARVIS replies crisply. 

Toni lifts her face from the pillow, cracking an eye open to glare at Steph who is still standing stupidly beside the bed. 

“What the hell are you doing Steph?” Toni groans.  “Don’t tell me you’re really going hold me to that whole sparring thing?  Do you have any idea how fucking much we drank last night.”

“Um,” is all Steph can think to reply.

“Get back in bed,” Toni commands, and Steph obeys, sliding back under the impossibly soft sheets.  Toni, eyes closed, smiles sleepily at her before turning her face back into her pillow. 

Steph lays in bed stiffly as Toni drifts back to sleep.  She knows she had promised not to overthink.  But Steph is definitely overthinking.

Why on earth did she sleep with Toni?  Toni is her friend, _just_ her friend.  Steph would never think of her friends in that way.  Steph had promised herself to keep her work life and personal life separate.  Not that Steph has a personal life to speak of.  What is wrong with her?  What will people say when they find out that Iron Woman and Captain America had sex?  Oh god, what happens when the world realizes that Bucky wasn’t just Steph’s “best friend”?  What will Nat say?  What will May say?  Should Steph tell them?  Or should she keep this entire thing secret?  Why is she still in Toni’s bed?  She should have left the room, gone back to her own floor, not gotten _back into_ bed with Toni.  What does this mean?  What does this mean for her friendship with Toni?  What does Toni expect now?  Hell, what does _Steph_ expect now?

Shit, what does she expect now? 

Carefully, Steph turns onto her side so she can see Toni.  Toni appears to be asleep, but apparently not because she turns her head slightly and speaks to Steph.

“Stop overthinking,” Toni says in a tired voice.

“I’m not overthinking,” Steph defends.  “I’m just…thinking.”

“I don’t even have to open my eyes to know you’re overthinking.”

“I’m not overthinking!” Steph insists.

“Yes, you are.  You haven’t moved a muscle for like three minutes, you’re barely even breathing,” Toni observes.  “You’re totally overthinking.”

Steph stays silent.  So Toni finally huffs, and pushes herself up onto her forearms so that she can level Steph with a glare.

“Steph, you are allowed to enjoy yourself, okay?” Toni says.  Steph just stares at the ceiling.  “Look, I’m low commitment, alright?  If you never want to do that again, I’d be a little sad cuz it was a lot of fun, but I’d understand.  Or we can stay in bed all day fucking.  Or anything in between.  Dealer’s choice.”

“I’m gonna go work out,” Steph says suddenly, jumping out of bed once more.

Steph doesn’t look back, not even when Toni says, “okay,” quietly, dejectedly.  She doesn’t want Toni to see her face, she isn’t comfortable with how easily Toni can read her.  Her feelings are still so twisted up that she doesn’t know what she’s thinking.  All she knows is that she needs to do something with her hands, with her body, or she is going to go a little insane.  So she practically runs to the elevator and takes it down to her own floor, instructing JARVIS to lock the doors behind her as she frantically makes her way to her personal gym.

It’s been a while since Steph has had a day off.  She’s been so busy with SHIELD lately, that she hasn’t had the chance to let her mind wander.  It’s been a blessing, she realizes, because left to her own devices, Steph catapults herself back into the past.  The same old guilt that seems to always be waiting for the right time to torment her rears its ugly head and begins to whisper in her ear things that makes her seriously doubt herself. 

She shouldn’t feel like a traitor or a cheater.  Bucky has been gone for seventy goddam years.  But Steph can’t shake the feeling that what she did with Toni was wrong, so very wrong.  Maybe because it’s because Toni reminds Steph so much of Bucky.  The same smart aleck remarks, a devil-may-care attitude, scoffing in the face of convention at every turn.  They even look a bit the same, because Steph has a type, and she knows it.  She’s a sucker for a sharp jawline, dark hair, and discerning eyes.

It feels like she’s replacing Bucky, and Steph can’t stomach that idea.

So, instead, she wails on a punching bag for about an hour in silence, until she’s sweating and panting.  Muscles burning, she pushes herself on the weight lifting equipment for another hour.  But the pent up, anxious energy is still there.  She wants to run, but she knows she shouldn’t, her knee is still healing from her fall (jump) from Willis Tower.  She paces around the gym like a caged animal before deciding to go another round on the equipment.

As Steph pushes her already aching, tired body to its limit, flashes of her dream from last night come back to her.  She can’t remember specifics, all he knows is that it included Bucky.  All of her dreams included Bucky, it seemed.  Steph could never escape the tar pit of despair that was Bucky’s memory, dragging Steph down with black tentacles.  When she concentrates hard, she remembers a few more murky details.  Bucky, looking sallow and exhausted.  A concrete, snow filled room.  And Toni, staring at Steph with pleading eyes as Bucky crushes her arc reactor under her fist.

Steph stops suddenly on the leg press, breath knocked out of her.  She should know better than to go chasing after her nightmares by now.

***

 

The building where the Red Room once resided is now an empty, burnt out shell.  Natasha moves silently through the rubble, not letting her ghosts catch her.  She has a mission, she needs to keep her eyes ahead.  The night is moonless and Natasha is nothing more than a black cat, a shadow passing through a long forgotten place.  She reaches the place where the Madam’s office once stood.  There is nothing but two crumbling walls, broken furniture, and rotting water clogged books left scattered about now.  Nat walks the perimeter, sharp eyes on the ground.  She moves away some rubble, some fallen bricks and lumber, making sure to maintain noise discipline. 

“Did you find it?” Fury says into Nat’s ear.

“Maybe,” Nat breaths in reply. 

Beneath the first layer of rubble, there is a wet, rotten layer of mildewed floorboards mixed with ash.  Nat continues to dig until she finally finds what she’s looking for.  The trap door is coded, so Nat pulls out her breaker device so it can discern the combination.  When the tumblers click into place, the latch on the door slides aside and a hiss of pressurized air escapes from the hidden room below.

“Mark,” Nat says quietly to Fury.

Nat lifts the door just enough to slip inside, dropping down the short distance onto a wet floor.  Nat pulls out her head lamp, holding it in her hand and sweeping the room.  It’s small, cramped, filled with nothing but metal shelving units that are piled with curled folders, stained files and water-logged ledgers. 

“This might take a while,” Nat says with a sigh, taking in the sheer mass of information in front of her.

“You know what I need,” Fury replies.

“Affirmative.”

Most of the files can’t be read, they’re simply too damaged.  Even with her breaker, she can’t complete the long washed away words.  But the words are only mildly important.  It’s a picture that she is looking for.

Nat searches in silence for nearly three hours when suddenly she throws open a folder to find a picture of herself, 15 years old, staring back at her.  It makes Nat’s breath hitch.  The Soviets left this room behind after the fall of the USSR, burned the building over it and hoped that it would erase enough evidence.  Nat wonders how many people actually knew about this hidden room.  Nat only knows about it because her first mission as a USSR asset was to assassinate the woman who compiled this library and steal all of the files on mental coding and conditioning.  Her owner’s had made her steal the information that would help them keep her in line. 

Nat flips the picture over so she doesn’t have to look at it and begins shuffling through the rest of the folder.  She pretends not to see the rest of the information continued within, tries to ignore the surgical notes and procedural pictures, flips quickly past the tolerance test result explanations.  She is grateful when she snaps the bloated folder shut and shoves it aside.  When she does, a folded black and white photo slides out.  It catches Nat’s attention and she snatches the picture up, carefully unsticking it from itself and unfolding it.

It’s a picture of Nat, leaned back in order to dodge a punch being throw her way.  Her fighting stance suggests an imminent counterstrike.  Her opponent is dressed in black, short shaggy hair just as lank as Nat remembers it in her nightmares.  The Winter Soldier’s silver arm gleams from where it is raised, ready to strike Nat.  “Physical Enhancements Test 3: HH Combat.  Subject 397710: Romanovia, Tester: WS” is scribbled in marker along the bottom of the picture.  A shiver runs along Nat’s spine.

“I found one,” Nat reports weakly.

“Facial Recognition specs?” Fury asks.

Nat fumbles with her breaker, pulling it out so she can scan the picture.  “Eighty-three percent, ma’am,” Nat relays.

“And you’re sure?” Fury asks.

Nat swallows hard. 

“Deadly so, ma’am.”

“Roger that, Bravo Whiskey.  Foxtrot, out.”

Nat secures the picture in her hip saddled bag.  When she sets the charges in the place, she leaves the bulk of the C-4 on the picture of her hallowed out face in the curled folder.  This time, when Nat leaves this place, she intends to leave it for good.  


	13. Accountability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh so much writer's block! Sorry, I've been busy with the holidays and such. I've been struggling with this chapter for some time. This one is another short one, but I promise I haven't given up on this story, just working it out.
> 
> Steph visits the other Captain America. Feels ensue.

Accountability.  That was something that Stephanie Rogers never seemed to have a lot of.  Her entire life, there was someone there to clean up her mess; whether that was Bucky, or the Army, or the Amazons, someone always did the dirty work in order to keep Captain America the squeaky clean saint that the American public wanted her to be, needed her to be.  Steph messed up plenty, but Captain America couldn’t mess up.  And at this moment, Steph was staring down at the blood on her hands that her red, white and blue blinders had hidden from her for so long.

For all the noise her brain was making this morning, Steph’s thoughts had suddenly fallen silent now.  She stared out the window, unblinking, as the city slid by.  The day was overcast, grey, spitting rain sporadically.  The melancholy of the weather matched the melancholy of Steph’s heart.  

The day had been an emotional roller coaster.  Earlier, Steph was in turmoil.  But all it had taken was a phone call to wash that all away, leave her empty and numb.

To be honest, she hadn’t expected to hear back from the Bradleys.  When in the course of assisting with the new Smithsonian exhibit, Steph learned that after she went into the ice, the US Government had used a vial of her blood in order to try to recreate the serum, and that the test subjects were 300 African American soldiers and veterans of World War II.  Numbers of them died immediately.  Others had suffered for months, maybe even years, until their bodies couldn’t take it anymore.  Then there were a handful, like Isaiah Bradley, five of them only, on whom the serum had been successful.  For all of his service and sacrifice, Bradley was thrown into prison and forgotten about for nearly twenty years.  And, eventually, the serum took a toll on him as well, along with PTSD, and he suffered brain damage, becoming mute and stoic.  He was the only other survivor of Project Rebirth.

When Steph had finally heard that story, she had been infuriated.  She had refused to continue assisting the Smithsonian that moment, had insisted that the exhibit be closed down, had gone in search of contacts that could connect her with Bradley.  She saw red, and all she could think about was Bucky strapped to that table in Azzano, in pain, dying, barely conscious; about the other soldiers, on their own tables, dead; about how little their lives were worth to Hydra.  To imagine that the US had similar disregard for the service members of color was almost more than Steph could stand.  Steph had been belittled, swept aside.  Bucky had been almost erased from history.  All to protect a fragile social ideology that women couldn’t be tough.  To know that there had been other casualties in a similar social stigma had been a pretty hard limit for Steph.

She had gotten the number for Mrs. Eliza Bradley, Isaiah's second wife.  Steph hadn’t expected that she would want to speak to her, but Mrs. Bradley had been perfectly friendly.  

Mrs. Bradley relayed Isaiah’s story.  He had been volunteered for the Project Rebirth program by his commanding officer.  He and the rest of the soldiers in his all-Black company had been experimented on.  Two hundred and ninety five of the soldiers died.  The Government tried to cover up what they had done.  They attempted to kill all five survivors of the serum.  Isaiah was the only one to survive.  

Stealing Captain America’s gear from a military base, Isaiah went on to destroy all other Project Rebirth test sites, and all the remaining vials of Steph’s blood and the blood of the other successful trials.  This included a mission to Germany to hunt down a Hydra scientist who was recreating the serum.  Isaiah killed the scientist but was captured by Hydra.  Hydra experimented on him, dissecting him while he still lived in order to reverse engineer the serum.  Isaiah went through this torture for nearly a year before he was rescued, only to be court martialed and imprisoned in Leavenworth until 1960, when he was pardoned by President Eisenhower.

The entire time, his wife and son had thought he was dead.  The Government had told them that the entire unit had been captured and killed in battle.  His first wife died while he was still in prison.   By the time Isaiah was released, his wife had passed and his son had disappeared into a life of crime.

For all of the Government’s efforts to cover up what they had done, Isaiah became something of a folk legend among the African American community, receiving visits from the likes of Malcom X to Colin Powell.  But the older he got, the more effect the serum had on his brain, and the more of his personality disappeared.  His aging seemed to have slowed, but that was its own kind of torture.  His body stayed healthy but his mind slowly disappeared.  

Steph really hadn’t expected that the woman would invite her to her house, or that she would want Steph to meet Isaiah.  But here Steph was, on her way to the Bradley’s apartment in Queens.  Steph had no idea what to say to Isaiah, other than to apologize, profusely, endlessly.  

The car was pulling up to a long row of rundown apartment buildings, the weather doing its gloomy nature no favors.  Despite the rain, teenagers hang around on stoops, leaned against retaining walls and fences, most of them with their hands stuffed into the pockets of their hoodies.  Steph reaches for a pair of sunglasses, putting them on before pulling her own hood up.  When she climbs out of the car, eyes go to her.  She walks up the sidewalk, through the creaky gate and up the stairs to the door which is adorned with a peeling “101 B.”  Steph knocks, her stomach in her throat.  She doesn’t know why she is so nervous.  But she practically turns and runs back to her car.  It’s guilt, deep and all-consuming that makes her shiver when she hears footsteps from within approaching the door.  Steph Rogers, Captain America, can face any danger, take down any enemy, but pales in the face of her own guilty conscious.  

Mrs. Bradley answers the door with a wide smile.  She’s old, at least seventy, with deep lines on her face.  But her smile is bright and sunny, friendly enough to part the clouds in the sky.  

“Captain Rogers,” she greets.

“Please, just Steph,” Steph says, extending her hand.  Mrs. Bradley grabs it and yanks Steph in for a hug.  Steph is surprised at first, frozen in confusion.  She returns the hug slowly as Mrs. Bradley rocks back and forth, talking into Steph’s shoulder.

“Oh goodness, look at you.  You even bigger in person than on the TV.  Not that that oughta su’prise me a’tal.  Lord knows Isiah is the biggest man I eva’ seen.  Oh, he is gonna be so happy to meet you, dear.”  

Mrs. Bradley breaks the hug, still prattling as she turns to lead Steph down the narrow hallway.  Steph’s jaw tenses as Mrs. Bradley leads her around the corner and into the living room area.  A well-worn easy chair sits in the middle of the room, the back to Steph.  On the television, a game show is playing loudly.  Mrs. Bradley bends down to snatch up the remote and turn the volume down.  

“Gammy!” a young voice complains.  Steph leans to the side to see where the voice comes from.  A young girl is standing up from her spot on the floor in front of the chair.  She looks no older than ten years old.  The t-shirt she wears has a white star surrounded by a blue and red ring. 

“Elie, shush,” Mrs. Bradley chides.  “Say hello to our guest now.  This is Miss Rogers.”

Elie’s eyes go wide and she scrambles to move around the chair and lay her eyes on Steph.  Steph pulls her sunglasses off and puts down her hood, releasing her humid blonde curls.  Steph suddenly feels bad for not spending more time getting dressed.  Elie is bouncing on her feet.

“You-you’re Captain America?!” Elie cries in awe.

Steph crouches down so she’s eye level with Elie.

“My name is Steph,” Steph says gently.  Elie’s eyes go wide.  “I like your shirt.”

Elie shyly looks down at her t-shirt, brushing it subconsciously.  “My Grampy is Captain America too,” Elie says, eyes down.

“That’s what I heard,” Steph replies.  “That’s why I’m here.  I want to meet the other Captain America.”

Elie looks up, eyes going impossibly wider.  She grabs Steph’s hand and suddenly tugs her around to the front of the easy chair.

Isaiah Bradley is  _ massive _ .  He barely fits into the wide chair.  His shoulders are at least four feet wide.  He sinks into the chair, but Steph would bet that he is nearly seven feet tall.  His eyes meet Steph’s and suddenly, he shifts.  With some effort, he pushes himself up and out of his chair.  Steph swallows hard.  She tries not to stare at the scars on his face, on his arms, on his hands, everywhere.  Despite the scars, Isaiah doesn’t look nearly his age.  He’s over ninety years old, but Steph wouldn’t put him a day past fifty.  Isaiah reaches out a hand the size of a dinner platter.  Steph extends her own hand and Isaiah grabs it in a bruising grip.  It’s rare that Steph feels small anymore, but suddenly she feels sixteen years old again.  The corner of Isaiah’s mouth tugs up in a smile.  To Steph’s left, Mrs. Bradley has tears in her eyes and Elie’s mouth has fallen open.

“Thank you for your service,” Steph says, voice hard, swallowing down her guilt.

Isaiah stiffens, pulling his hand back and going to attention.  He stretches to his full height, defiantly at least seven feet tall, and with serious eyes salutes Steph.  Steph breaths in sharp through her nose, quickly going to attention herself and returning the salute.

“I brought you something,” Steph says, swinging her bag off of her shoulder.

Isaiah reaches for his wife and together they shuffle towards the dining room table.  Mrs. Bradley offers Steph a seat and immediately Elie is there beside her, bouncing on her knees, unable to contain the excitement she is feeling.  Steph pulls the framed picture from her bag.  She hadn’t painted in a long time, but as soon as she found out the history, she had dug out the paints in her room in DC.  There were very few pictures of Isaiah, most had been destroyed when the Government was trying to erase him from history.  But Steph had found a few.  She had painted two identical pictures, one she held in her hand now, the other she had insisted be installed in the Smithsonian before she agreed to help with the exhibit again.

It was a picture of Isaiah, dressed in his Captain America uniform—one that had small differences from Steph’s—but no mask.  He stands on a ledge, pose heroic, one foot propped on a boulder.  Behind him, an American flag unfurrows.  Painted into the background are faces.  Martin Luther King Jr, Malcom X, Muhummad Ali, Angela Davis, Nelson Mandela, Richard Pryor, Rosa Parks.  Steph lays it on the table, nervous.  She’s not sure if it’s too much, too ostentatious.  She’s afraid that he might not like it, might hate what his country turned him into, might even hate his country, and Steph knows that it would be justified if he did.  But Isaiah reaches a hand towards the picture and picks it up.  His eyes go cloudy when he looks at it.  Carefully, he shows his wife, who immediately begins to cry.

“Oh, Steph.  That’s the most beautiful painting I ever seen.  Did you do that yourself?!”

“I did and…well I was hoping you would be alright if a painting like that went up in the Smithsonian’s Captain America exhibit.”

The Bradleys’ eyes go wide all at once.

“I was also hoping that you would help me with the Isaiah Bradley portion of the exhibit.  I told them that I wouldn’t attend the event or let them display my personal items or drawings if they didn’t accurately represent all those who had taken up the mantle of Captain America over the years, including you.  So I hoped that you and your family would help me with that, and that you would come with me to the opening.”

Isaiah is shaking his head.  Steph’s stomach sinks.

“You’re Captain America,” Isaiah says, voice low and slow and croaking from disuse.  His family glances at him in surprise.  Steph had been told that he rarely speaks.

“No,” Steph disagrees.  “I’m Captain Rogers.  I volunteered from Project Rebirth for selfish reasons.  I was small.  I wanted to be bigger, stronger, to show people that I was worth something.  I wanted to follow my friend into war because I was naïve.  I’ve only ever been myself.  And I’ve only ever acted because it was the selfish thing to do.  But you…you didn’t have a choice, and you still became a hero.  You had every right to be angry, but instead you chose to use the powers for a purpose, to ensure that nobody could be put through that again.”      

Isaiah bows his head for a moment.  When he looks back up, there is a single tear streak down his left cheek.  

“What would you need?” Isaiah asks.  Steph smiles wide.

The rest of the visit is spent with Elie running about the apartment, pulling boxes and folders from different shelves and closets, bringing them to the table by the becking of her grandmother.  Mrs. Bradley narrates mostly, explaining each picture, each artifact.  Only occasionally does Isaiah speak up.  Sometimes he will correct his wife gently, or explain something that Mrs. Bradley doesn’t know the significance to.  Every so often, an item will bring a tear to Isaiah’s eye and he has to pause to look out the window.  These items usually have to do with his deceased wife, his long missing son, or his old unit.  It’s not long before Steph pulls a notebook out of her bag in order to keep notes.

After about an hour, Isaiah descends into a fit of coughing and when he finally recovers, he glances around with a distressed look of confusion.  Mrs. Bradley reacts immediately, grabbing Isaiah by the arm to lead him to his bedroom.

“Sometimes Grampy forgets where he is,” Elie explains quietly, not looking up from where she’s fiddling with a yellowing letter.

“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Bradley says when she returns, sounding genuinely upset.

“No, it’s no problem at all.  This visit was so much more than I could have expected,” Steph replies, getting to her feet.

“He just needs to lay down for a little while s’all,” Mrs. Bradley explains.

“I understand,” Steph says softly.

“Would you like me to box these things up for you?”

“No, no I don’t want to take anything of his.  If I could come back with a currarator, then they can get pictures and if Isaiah’s feeling up to it, then we can discuss which items he’d be alright with displaying.” 

Mrs. Bradley is looking down at the items spread out across the table.  She’s quiet for a long moment.  Eventually, she reaches down and gingerly picks up a picture.  It’s the 300 veterans, 295 of which whom would be dead within months of this picture being taken.  She hands it to Steph.  

“The names are on the back,” Mrs. Bradley says in a voice that is almost a whisper.  

Steph carefully puts the picture into the folds of her notebook to keep it safe.  Once the notebook is back in her bag, Steph is pulled into another hug, this one joined by Elie who wraps her small arms around Steph’s middle.

“Thank you, so much,” Mrs. Bradley almost sobs.  “It means so much to him, ta’us.”     

“Anytime,” Steph replies, voice watery.  “You have my number.”

Outside, Elie marvels over the self-driving car before throwing herself at Steph in another hug.  Steph kneels down so that she’s on Elie’s level and returns the hug.  

Mrs. Bradley and Elie wave goodbye from their stoop.  As the car pulls away, the clouds split and the sun shows itself for the first time today.  Steph flips open her sketchbook and begins the outline of a young face.  

 

***

The pain is almost unbearable.  Wanda isn’t sure, but she thinks that she is going in and out on consciousness.  She twists her head from left to right, glancing down the long line of metal tables.  She knows that Pietro isn’t in this room, but she is still looking for him.  Instead she sees only other women in tattered hospital gowns.  Some scream in agony, other’s lie completely still, dead.  At the center of the room, the machine whines high and screeching, it’s blue glow pulsing.  Wanda tries against her restraints again but has the same non-result.  She is stuck, trapped, and suddenly she’s a child again, crouching beneath a bed holding Pietro and listening to her parents cries go silent.  

“ _ Please _ !” Wanda shouts.  She doesn’t know to whom she is pleading.  “Make it end!”

What is she doing here?  What on earth had she been thinking, falling for the pro-government propaganda like a fool.  She’s just a girl.  There was so little that she could do.  Ever since that building fell, she’s been stuck there.  Maybe not physically, but mentally she’s still trapped beneath that bed.  For ten years she has been trying to do something to make a difference.  Pietro could do something.  He could join the military, he could fight, he wanted to fight.  Pietro had always been the strong one, holding Wanda up, carrying her when she was too weak.  But these experiments had been Wanda’s idea.  Pietro only followed because it was the only thing Wanda had insisted on in years.  And now, he was probably as dead as the teenage girl on the table next to Wanda.

Wanda flexes again, but it still strapped down.  In agony and helplessness, she slams the back of her head against the cold metal beneath her.  She screams in anger, in pain, gritting her teeth as the tears finally begin to fall free.

She can only think of Pietro.  She can’t lose him, she  _ cannot  _ lose him.  He is the only thing that she has in the world, everything else has been stolen from her.  In her hysteria, she thinks that if she just concentrates hard enough on wanting Pietro to survive what can only be described as torture, that, for once, she can be the one to save him.

Wanda screams again.  The room is getting quieter.  The blue light pulses brighter, and more of the women are passing out or dying.  Wanda is certain that she is about to die as well.  Her heart feels like it is swelling, becoming too large, about to burst from her chest.  She imagines herself a split open corpse, bleeding out on the floor.  She thinks of Pietro finding her like that.  She thinks of Pietro as the same corpse, in another room, on another table.

“ _ Pietro! _ ”

There is a flash of red.  Wanda thinks that it must be her blood.  It explodes from her chest and consumes the room.  Wanda is dying, she is certain of it.  Never before has she felt this sensation.  It isn’t pain, but it still feels agonizing, like her body is being rearranged.  She pulls again on her binds and everything goes black.

When Wanda open’s her eyes, she’s naked on the concrete floor.  The damned machine has been blown across the room, shattering against the far wall.  Wanda looks around, but the other tables have been blown back too.  She glances down at her own hands, which feel like they are on fire, only to find that they actually  _ are  _ on fire.  Flames dance between her fingers.  Well, not flames, exactly.  Wanda cocks her head, watches the odd flames dance for a moment before she loses consciousness for good.  

The scientists who rush into the room think that an explosion has gone off, caused by the staff.  But what they find, instead, is Wanda, slumped against the charred ground.   


	14. Slumber Party

The warm, late spring weather means that, when Steph visits, Peggy insists they go out into the courtyard.  Steph is more than happy to oblige.  The courtyard is lovely and overlooks the valley below, the vibrant greens and pinks of early summer make the day feel young, pure.  The rain that had plagued the morning has retreated, leaving crystal blue skies and a friendly sun. 

Steph and Peggy mostly sit in silence.  Neither of them want to break the spell because they are both enjoying it too much.  Peggy is happy to be out of her stuffy room.  As the years pass, she is less able to stand the elements, so this weather is one of the few times that she can enjoy being outside.  Steph sits across the small picnic table from Peggy, beneath the shade of a large red umbrella, finishing her sketch of Elie.  Every so often, an orderly will come by to check on Peggy, offer to bring snacks and drinks, or a friend of Peggy’s from the home will wander over for a chat.  For the most part, Steph is left alone, so she assumes that either the staff and tenants have gotten used to Captain America hanging around, or Peggy has asked them, probably quite explicitly, to stop bugging Steph.

When the sketch is finished, Steph sighs heavily and leans back.  Peggy glances over at the drawing.

“May I?” Peggy asks.

Steph slides the sketch book over to Peggy.  The older woman picks it up carefully and looks at the picture of the girl.

“It’s lovely, as always, Steph,” Peggy says with a smile.  “Who is it?”

“Her name is Elie,” Steph replies quietly.  Peggy raises an eyebrow.  “I met her today,” Steph explains further.  “Peg…did you-…did you know about Isaiah Bradley.”

Peggy’s face falls a bit.  She hands the sketchbook back to Steph solemnly. 

“I am afraid that I have heard that unfortunate story.  And I had the pleasure of meeting the man in ’68, shortly after his release from Leavenworth.”

“Did you know?” Steph asks shakily. 

Peggy sighs heavily.  “Not at the time, no.  After the war…I struggled to collect all of the samples of your blood.  But it was quite the hot commodity.  The Department of Defense approved the continuation of Project Rebirth.  When I found out...” Peggy glances up at Steph apologetically.  “You worked so hard, sacrificed so much for a better world, and for a country who only betrayed your memory.  I am so sorry, Steph.”

Steph sighs again, dropping her gaze back to the picture.  “It’s alright, Peg.  It’s not your fault,” Steph says after a moment.

“No, I was being selfish,” Peggy admits.  Steph makes a noise of protest, but Peggy raises a hand.  “I was so concerned with SHIELD, with _my_ legacy, that I was blinded to all else.”

A heavy, less comfortable silence falls between them.  Steph reaches out and pulls her sketch book back towards her. 

“Elie is his granddaughter,” Steph says quietly.  “I want to make sure the new Smithsonian exhibit includes Isaiah’s story.”

“I think that’s a marvelous idea, Steph.”

After that, they decide to move inside for a late lunch.  It’s been a long day, and it’s nearly 3:00 pm.  Peggy and Steph eat quietly in the meal hall. 

“I’m a bad person,” Steph admits about halfway through the meal.

Peggy pauses, setting down her fork so she can give Steph a look.

“And why is that?” Peggy asks.

“Because…when I was at the Bradley’s this morning, all I could keep thinking about is…’Oh god, what if this happens to me.’”  Peggy cocks her head in a question.  “Isaiah he’s….he’s in perfect physical condition but the serum has destroyed his mind.  He’s going to live for a long time, and for the rest of his time on earth he’s not going to remember who he is.  And the whole time I was in their house, all I kept thinking about was if that’s what-…what I’ll be like one day.”  Steph finally looks up at Peggy. 

Peggy reaches across the table to take Steph’s hand.

“Steph,” Peggy breaths.  “Perhaps this isn’t a comfort, but there is nobody in the history of the world who has lived the life that you have.  You are entirely unprecedented.  It’s true that everybody fears getting older, and I can attest that it certainly isn’t a picnic.  But your future is unwritten.  Whether that is good or bad, it’s the truth.  But you can’t live in fear of what is to come, because you’ll forget to appreciate what is.”

Steph smiles shyly.  “You always know what to say.”

Peggy smiles and sits upright.  “Of course I do, darling.  I’m a very intelligent woman.”

That makes Steph laugh.  But then her face falls a bit.  Peggy sighs.

“What else is it that you would like to tell me?” Peggy asks, sagely. 

“You know me too well, Peg,” Steph replies sheepishly.  Peggy just watches Steph expectantly.  So Steph sighs for what feels like the millionth time today.  “I’m…sorta seeing someone.”

Steph flinches in preparation for what Peggy might say to that, even though she knows that Peggy will only offer her encouragement.

“That’s so wonderful to hear!” Peggy exclaims.  “Since when?”

“Uhm, yesterday actually.”

Steph half expects Peggy to ask who it is, but is grateful when she doesn’t.

“Well you see, dear, that’s precisely what I mean!  Living in the present.  I’m proud of you, Steph.”

Steph huffs a laugh.

“Proud of me?”

Peggy reaches across to grab Steph’s hand again. 

“Yes, love, proud of you.” 

Peggy knows that she doesn’t need to say anything else.  She always had a way with words.  Steph ducks her head shyly, trying to hide the blush that’s climbing up her neck.

“I don’t know…I feel like I’m rushing it,” Steph admits.

“Stephanie,” Peggy says seriously.  “You have been out of the ice for over a year.  It’s okay to let yourself live.  I know that the past weighs on you, more than most of us.”  Her voice softens.  “And I know that you still miss Jamie.  But if this new opportunity feels right, then ought to do yourself a favor and _take it_.”

Steph nods slowly, a small smile on her face. 

“Alright, Peg, if you say so.  I will.”

Peggy squeezes Steph’s hand.

“Good.”

 

***

 

 

In front of Nicole, Black Widow stands eerily still, hands behind her back at parade rest.  Nicole stares down at the picture that Romanoff has just laid on her desk. 

“Is that what you wanted, ma’am?” Romanoff asks.

Fury looks at the water stained photograph, the picture of a young Natasha sparring with a woman dressed in black combat gear.  Nicole looks at the older woman’s face.  The picture quality isn’t great, and it’s taken from a distance, but Nicole still knows that face.

In response to Romanoff’s question, Fury reaches down and grabs a thick file from a drawer in her desk.  Flipping it open, Fury hands Romanoff the picture on top.  The redhead snatches the picture from Fury’s hand and looks at it with a critical eye.

Any child raised in the American Public School system knows the picture because they’ve probably come across it in a history book at some time or another.  Of course, Natasha wasn’t raised in the American Public School system, but Fury doesn’t doubt that she’s seen the picture too.

It’s a black and white Army photograph of Sergeant Jamie Buchanan Barnes.  She stands with her body cocked to the right slightly, and she looks at the camera past her left shoulder.  She’s dressed in her dress greens, hair meticulously curled, lipstick staining her lips.  But even in this professional setting, there is mischief in her eyes.

“Is it her?” Fury asks.

Romanoff still stares at the picture. 

“It’s…hard to tell.”  Natasha leans forward to pick up the other picture and look at them side by side.  “The Winter Soldier…she’s cruel, cold, inhuman.  She felt nothing, she feared nothing, she never showed any emotion.  She was what we were supposed to strive to be.  That’s _nothing_ like how Steph describes Bucky.”  She puts both pictures in front of Nicole.

They sit in silence for a long while, the subterranean safe house still and cold around them.  Nicole couldn’t risk having this meeting in the Triskelion, too many ears and eyes.

“So let’s say that is Sergeant Barnes, what does that mean?  How would that be possible?  Jamie Barnes was a patriot, a decorated war hero.  And she’d be over ninety years old by now,” Romanoff says.

“After all the crazy shit you’ve seen, you don’t think that something like this is possible?” Nicole asks doubtfully.

“Fair point,” Romanoff concedes.  “Are you going to tell Rogers?”

Silence sets heavy between them again.

“No, not yet.  I need to connect some more dots.  Because to answer your question, I don’t know what it means, but I have some theories.  But all of this is strictly need-to-know.  We can’t risk anybody else finding out that we are digging.”  Fury pauses, looking back at the photos.  “The last time the Winter Soldier showed movement was a month before Captain America went public.  The Soldier's been on blackout since then.  So whatever she wants and whoever she is working for, I think that they’re lying in wait to strike.”

“She knows that going on missions would increase the likelihood of running into Steph,” Nat says, following Fury’s logic.  “Which only stands to confirm your theory that that _is_ Jamie Barnes.” She’s quiet for a moment.  “We should tell Rogers, she could confirm that the pictures-“

“We’re intelligence agents, Romanoff.  We do our jobs to keep people safe.  We’re not allowed the liberty of getting emotional.”  Fury looks up, turning to take in Romanoff with her good eye.  “Rogers can’t even have a funny feeling that we’re hiding something from her.  She’s a soldier and a hero but you know just as well as I do exactly how Rogers feels about Barnes.  What do you think she would do if she even thought for a second that Barnes was alive?”

“I understand, ma’am.”

“Good.  We’ll bring her in once I’m more certain of what exactly we may be dealing with here.  Until then, I want you with her as much as possible.  The Winter Soldier and her employers may be planning a move on Rogers, and you _must_ be there with her when they make their move.  Rogers is currently in New York with Stark.  I want you on the next flight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re dismissed.”

The Black Widow goes to attention, salutes, and then turns and stalks out of the concrete room.  Fury wastes no time, pushing the button on her ear piece and directing it to call Hill.

“Ma’am,” Hill answers on the second ring.

“I’m at TGI Fridays right now.  How about you come meet me for lunch?” Fury says, cleaning up the file on her desk. 

“Sounds good, ma’am, I’ll be there in ten minutes.  Can you order me a coke?”

“No, they only have diet coke.  Don’t forget your cell phone.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Agent Hill hangs up.

 

***

 

Toni is trying not to overthink the fact that Steph has ghosted on her.  Toni gets it, Steph needs some space to deal with her first lay since the 1940s.  JARVIS notified Toni when Steph left the Tower at 8:30 this morning.  Toni had spent an hour pacing, ate a fidgety breakfast, gone to her lab and tinkered, given up and gone to the gym to punch things, before ending back up in her lab, welding things to make herself feel better.  Melting metal is her catharsis.

But when that fails to keep her brain quiet for more than thirty minutes at a time, she throws the torch across the room and decides to attempt something that she rarely does: cooking.

The music is so loud that it hurts Toni’s ears, and she’s cooking about three meals at once for no particular reason.  It’s past 6:00 when JARVIS tells Toni that Steph has returned to the Tower.  A few minutes later, Toni hears the elevator ding.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Steph says as a way of announcing her presence.

Toni turns with flourish, the plate of chicken in hand.  “Hidden depths,” she snarks, sliding the plate across the kitchen island towards Steph.  But Steph doesn’t move.  Instead her eyes go to the speaker in the corner which is blasting loud rock music.

“What is that?” Steph has to shout over the stereo as the song’s hook turns into its chorus.

“Disturbed,” Toni replies with a wink.

“You’re not fucking kidding,” Steph grumbles. 

Toni laughs. “No, Disturbed is a band.  And I love this song.  And this is my tower, so…”

“I thought this was Amazon Tower, kum-bye-ah and all that crap.”

As a response, Toni scoops up a wooden spoon from a nearby counter, using it as a microphone to sing-scream along with the lyrics.  She’s off-key, desperately so, but it makes Steph smile, so that’s a win in Toni’s book. 

“Hey, J, grandma doesn’t like this music, maybe play something more appropriate,” Toni shouts.

JARVIS, the snarky bastard, turns on polka music.

“That’s mama’s boy,” Toni laughs as Steph screws up her face.

“Ha ha,” Steph grumbles.

Toni smiles and grabs her phone to put on something a little more contemporary.  Steph moves into the kitchen to observe all of the pots and pans cooking on the stovetop. 

“I was going to ask what’s for dinner, but the answer is apparently everything,” Steph says.

“I was bored,” Toni shrugs, trying to sound casual.  She leans against the counter and crosses her arms across her chest.  “So…that was a pretty long workout.”

Steph glances at her apologetically.  “Sorry, I got a phone call.  Something I’ve been needing to…do for a while now.”

“I thought that that’s what we did last night,” Toni says with a wink.

Steph huffs a laugh.

They’re both quiet for a long moment.

“Seriously, Steph,” Toni says, voice dipping into a solemn tone, one she rarely takes.  “Should I be expecting you to turn tail and run again?”

Steph glances up shyly, a blush climbing up her neck.

“I didn’t mean to,” she mutters, eyes settling on Toni’s mouth instead of her eyes.  Steph shrugs miserably.  “I’m sorry, Toni.  I’m not good at this crap.  I wasn’t good at it seventy years ago, and I haven’t had any practice since then…”

Toni takes a cautious step into Steph’s space.  Steph tenses a bit, but doesn’t move otherwise.  So Toni takes another careful step, reaching out to put her fingers through the belt loops on Steph’s jeans.  Toni tugs lightly, and Steph takes a small step until they are nearly chest to chest.  Steph is a good six inches taller than Toni, but she is slumped in on herself, blush creeping ever higher.

“Hey,” Toni says softly, waiting until Steph’s eyes meet hers before continuing.  “Would you like to have a sleepover tonight?”

That makes Steph grin and huff a nervous laugh.

“I’m talking whole nine yards—popcorn, scary movies, trashy magazines, lingerie pillow fights.”

Steph’s grin widens a bit more. 

“You’re lucky I’ve been brushing up on my pop culture, because in my day, that would have probably been considered witch craft,” Steph says seriously.

Toni barks in laughter.  “Is that a joke Rogers?”

Steph’s grin widens into a genuine smile and she laughs.  Toni takes advantage of the moment, standing onto her tip toes and catching Steph off guard in a kiss.  Steph freezes for a moment, and Toni nearly pulls away, but then she relaxes, kissing Toni back gently.  Steph’s hands run up Toni’s arms, grip tightening as she leans into the kiss.  When they separate, they’re both a bit out of breath.

“So,” Steph breathes, licking her lips, eyes still closed.  “What’s the first order of business in this sleepover event?”

“Skimpy pajamas,” Toni answers immediately.  Steph opens her eyes to give her a speculative look.  “The silkier and more see-through the better.”

“I don’t think I own _anything_ like that,” Steph replies.

“Well you’re in luck, because that’s almost exclusively what I own.”

Steph laughs and Toni winks at her before grabbing her hand and pulling her towards her room.

“The stove is on!” Steph protests.

Toni rolls her eyes because, of course, that would be Steph’s first concern.

“JARVIS will take care of it, won’t you J?”

“Anything for you, ma’am,” JARVIS says.

The next thirty minutes is spent with Toni tossing every article of silky sleep wear she owns at Steph until the blonde finally decides on a purple pair of sleep pants and a loose fitting crop top that Toni insisted on because it shows off Steph’s perfectly cut hipbones descending into a tantalizing V in her bottoms.  Toni dresses herself in a pair of high cut underwear and a nearly see through tank top.  She knows she’s made the right decision when she turns around to catch Steph staring.

Steph seems uncomfortable and awkward in the clothes until Toni grabs her and pulls her into a deep kiss before muttering in her ear.

“I can’t wait to tear that off of you.”

The blush reappears, but Steph just leans forward and grabs for the edge of Toni’s shirt.  Toni bats her hand away.

“Uh uh, not yet, Cap.  There are protocols in place.”

Steph visibly pouts, but Toni just laughs and dances out of the room.

“I’ve been slaving away, stress-cooking dinner.  You are going to sit down and eat it because I’m 200% certain that you’re hungry,” Toni calls over her shoulder.

“I’m always hungry,” Steph replies.

“Exactly.”

Steph loads up three plates of food while JARVIS begins making popcorn and Toni goes into her theatre room to decide on a movie.  When Steph comes in with food for both of them, they sit down on the pile of pillows Toni has at the foot of the recliners in the room.

The first thirty minutes of Evil Dead (1981 version, Toni doesn’t fuck with remakes) is spent with Steph polishing off her three plates before going back for a fourth serving.  The next thirty minutes, Steph and Toni share a massive bowl of popcorn while Steph criticizes the characters and tells Toni the “obvious strategies” that Ash should have used to “combat the situation.”  The final thirty minutes of the film, neither of them pay very much attention to because Toni finally succumbs to her urge to put her hands on Steph.

When JARVIS turns the lights up, signaling the rolling credits, Toni is straddling Steph’s hips, kissing her deeply, one hand up the offending top.  Toni pulls away, running her hands over her face before smiling.  Steph simply reaches for her, but Toni twists away and off Steph.

“Protocols, Rogers, protocols,” Toni says, still breathless.

Steph groans.

“Fine,” Steph grumbles, sitting up.  “What’s next on your ‘sleepover protocol?’”

“Trashy romance novels, or course.  Then a pillow fight.”

Steph gives her an unimpressed look.  Toni just giggles, before getting to her feet.

Toni doesn’t make it a few feet past the door of the theatre room before a pillow collides with the back of her head.  She turns to find Steph playing innocent.

“Oh is that how it is?” Toni asks.

“That’s how it is,” Steph says, a dare in her voice.

Toni bends down and grabs the pillow from the ground, rushing forward to swing it at Steph.  Steph moves quickly, ducking the blow and grabbing up another pillow from the ground.  Toni swings the pillow again, and Steph grabs it.  They both pull and the pillow tears, sending down feathers flying through the air.

“Damn, I’ve never actually seen that stereotype come true,” Toni says.

She’s caught off guard when the pillow Steph is holding collides with her shoulder.  It actually knocks Toni back and she realizes that she is now in a pillow fight with a super soldier.

“Wait, I might not have thought this through,” Toni laughs.  “I feel like I need a suit.  You know, even the odds.”

Steph throws the pillow she’s holding at Toni.  Toni catches it and swings, catching Steph across the face.

“Remember when we first met and you dared me to go a few rounds?” Toni asks.

“Yeah?” Steph says, bending to get another pillow. 

“I want you to know that this is _exactly_ what I had in mind.”

Steph laughs but doesn’t stop her assault.

It doesn’t take long for “pillow fight” to turn into “sparring.”  After the third pillow splits, they both tumble to the ground.  Steph is taking it easy, not using her entire strength, and Toni knows it.  But they roll about, pinning each other, grappling, and landing light jabs.  At one point, JARVIS tells Toni of an authorized entry in the lower floors, but Toni ignores him, assuming it’s one of the night shift workers completing the lower levels.

“Just so you know, I want no part of whatever porn you guys are shooting,” a smooth voice says from the doorway a few minutes later.

Toni and Steph both look over, caught off guard.  Natasha stands, leaning against the frame of the door, arms crossed, an eyebrow arched.  Steph immediately separates herself from Toni, blushing hard.  Toni heaves a breath.

“How’d you get in here?” Toni finally asks.

Nat just gives Toni a look.

“Right.  Super sex-pot spy assassin,” Toni says, rolling so she can get to her feet.

“Nat,” Steph sputters, “what are you doing here?”

“Well, this _is_ Amazon Tower, right?  I thought I was an Amazon.”

“I mean-…I thought you were on a mission,” Steph replies, awkwardly adjusting her top, trying to hide her exposed skin.

“I was.  And now I’m not.”

Steph motions awkwardly around at the mess of feathers.  “It’s…not what it looks like…” she mutters, blush growing even more crimson.

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Toni corrects with a wink. 

Nat finally smiles.  “No judgment,” she says simply before pushing off the wall and heading back towards the kitchen.

Steph is sweating, and it’s not from the sparring.  Toni moves towards her, grabbing her arm gently.

“Relax, Rogers,” Toni commands.

Steph swallows hard and looks like she’s about to say something, but instead she just shakes out of Toni’s grip and storms out of the room.  Toni sighs.  She’s never been disappointed to see the Black Widow before, but there’s a first time for everything.  Toni had been successfully getting Steph to let down her guard, and now she’s certain that Steph would be retreating to her room and they’d be back in the same boat that they were in this morning.

Toni’s right, because when she gets to the kitchen, Nat is sitting at the island alone and Steph is nowhere to be seen.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Nat asks when Toni rounds the island.

“Uh, no.  I don’t think I’ve ever been sure or anything that I do.  Why?”

“I know you’re not stupid, Toni.”

“I actually happen to be a genius.  What exactly are you getting at, Romanoff?” Toni demands, defensive.

Nat holds up her hands in surrender.

“I’m not trying to start a fight,” the red head says. 

“It’s movie night,” Toni snaps.  “If I had known you were coming, you would have gotten an official invite.”

“I’m not interested in fulfilling your threesome fantasy.”

Toni barks a cold laugh.

“I thought you weren’t trying to start a fight,” Toni accuses.

Nat sighs and her body goes loose.  For the first time ever, Toni watches her slump a bit.  Toni knows that all it is is trained interpersonal tactics, feigning submission or defeat.  It’s supposed to put Toni at ease, but it has the opposite effect.  Toni has spent enough time around spies to know a calculated movement when she sees one.  Toni bristles.  Nat notices and she shifts, brushing her red hair back.  Another calculated move.  The silent standoff continues for several more seconds before Nat sighs.

“Toni, I just don’t want to see Steph hurt.  She’s been through enough and…she has to keep her mind on the missions ahead, on the Amazons and on SHIELD,” Nat says slowly.

“Well, thank you for insinuating that I’m gonna hurt her somehow, but Cap deserves to have some fun--you oughta try it out sometime, by the way.  You and Fury run her like a race horse.”

“Alright, Toni.  You’re right,” Nat succeeds. 

Toni huffs, stalking past the redhead to take on the issue of dirty dishes.  Steph had finished off all three meals Toni had prepared.  So she begins to gather up plates, making more noise than necessary until Nat becomes uncomfortable enough to stand up from where she sits.

“I’m going to go find Steph,” Nat mutters, not waiting for a response before she heads for the elevator.

Once Black Widow is gone, Toni gives up on the dishes, tossing the plate in her hand so hard into the sink that it shatters.

“ _Fuck!_ ” 

Toni doesn’t bother with any of it any further.  Instead, fuming, she tells JARVIS to lock down her floor, and she storms to her lab.

Once in the comfort of her lab, Toni throws a heavy welding apron over her skimpy outfit and goes looking for her torch, unsure where she threw it earlier when she was in a similar mood.  Not even Dum-E 2 or JARVIS can find it and, like the dishes, Toni gives up pretty quickly.  Instead, she throws the apron to the floor and presses her thumb and forefinger together.

Thirty seconds later, Iron Woman is flying out the jet port with no particular destination in mind.


	15. Soldat

When Nat gets into the elevator, she doesn’t like the feeling blooming in her chest.  It’s one that she’s only had a handful of times in her life.  She doesn’t want to name it, but she knows exactly what it is: guilt.

A Black Widow doesn’t feel guilt.  That was pretty much rule number one.  Even after her conditioning broke, it was just easier for Nat to live her life as a series of interactions.  Debts paid forward, no red in her ledger, calling for collection time when needed.  It was the only way she knew how to exist, and she had a feeling that if she thought of her life in any other way, it might drive her to the brink of insanity.  Because any other way, the guilt would probably eat her alive until she was nothing but an empty shell.

So Natasha does not like to feel guilt.

Yet as the elevator descends, that’s exactly what she’s feeling.

Nat had spent most of her life without anybody she would call a “friend.”  Not until Barton; not until Clara saved her instead of killing her.  Only with Clara did Nat feel like her life was anything but a series of receipts.  Nat had always wanted to ask Clara how she did it, how she did what they did and maintained real, human relationships with her family.  But Nat had no idea how to ask that kind of question.  Between Nat and Clara, there was an understanding.  They both understood their jobs, they both knew what “need-to-know” means, and they would never hold it against the other.

Nat knows that Steph wouldn’t feel the same way.

And that’s why Nat is feeling guilty.  Normally, she wouldn’t care about anyone’s feelings when it came to a mission.  But Nat is uncomfortable with the guilt _because_ she cares.  The guilt means that she cares about Steph’s feelings. 

Nat doesn’t know how she feels about her circle of trust growing by one.

Luckily, she’s saved by the cell phone buzzing in her back pocket.  She pulls it out to find a message from Banner.

“ _How’s the circus?”_

Nat doesn’t realize that she’s smiling to herself as she types out a reply.

_“As big as a spectacle as ever.  How’d the meeting with Strange go?”_

Jen’s reply is almost immediate.

_“Productive.  We found some useful neural triggers.  We’re going to work on conditioning tomorrow.”_

Nat begins to type, “Science-y,” but is interrupted by a second text from Jen.

_“And don’t pretend like you don’t know what that means.  I know you’re smarter than that.”_

_“You know me too well, Banner.”_

Nat slides the phone back into her pocket, not thinking about it.  Because she’s trained her mind for too long to let something like emotion slip in.  She’s maintained contact with Banner since New York.  Fury’s orders.  At least that’s what she tells herself.

It’s just good accountability, maintaining an asset. 

That’s all it is.

The elevator doors slide open, and Nat is reminded of the guilt that she had been granted brief reprieve from.  She takes a breath to steel herself, and walks into Steph’s quarters.  It doesn’t take her long to find Steph.  She’s, predictably, in the kitchen, eating a sandwich.  But between storming down here and making that sandwich, Steph had thrown a heavy sweatshirt on.  When she sees Nat, she blushes.

“Sorry,” Steph says through a mouthful of food, sheepishly looking at the ground.

“For what?  Nothing I haven’t seen before, Rogers.  I should apologize to you for sneaking up on you.”

Steph sets her sandwich down on the counter.

“Well, sneaking is in your job description, I can’t fault you for it too much,” Steph says.  “Naked wrestling with coworkers isn’t exactly in mine.”

“Well,” Nat says in mock contemplation, “you weren’t _entirely_ naked.”

Steph rolls her eyes.  Nat has succeeded in making her comfortable, and Steph grabs her sandwich and jumps up on the counter in its place. 

“So I assume Fury sent you here, but I really hope it wasn’t to spy on me,” Steph says after another bite.

Nat laughs.

“Well, you’re right, she did send me here to spy on your hookups and take very detailed notes, report in on activity every hour.  But you caught me, so I suppose I’ve been busted.”

Steph aims a light kick at Nat’s arm.

“What’d she really send you here for?”

“Even I take breaks, Rogers.  And a room in Stark Tower is the nicest accommodations I’ve ever had.”

“You expect me to just believe that you’re in New York on vacation?” Steph asks lightheartedly.  “I didn’t think ‘vacation’ was in Black Widow’s vocabulary.”

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Nat says, trying not to get too dramatic with the impression.

“Jokes on you, I know that one.  Toni made me watch the Star Wars.”

Nat shoots Steph a look and it makes Steph blush and falter again.  Nat internally kicks herself, she hadn’t meant to make Steph self-conscious.  But now Steph is staring at her half eaten sandwich contemplatively.  When she looks up at Nat, her face is strained.  Nat waits for her to speak, but Steph just chews her lip for a moment before dropping her gaze.

“I’ve had a long day, Nat.  I’m gonna go to bed,” Steph says quietly. 

Nat nods.  Steph slides off the counter and finishes her sandwich is two bites. 

“Wanna spar in the morning?” Steph asks, glancing up.

“You’re on, Rogers.”

“K, night.”

Steph just turns and walks out of the kitchen, towards her bedroom.  Nat sighs and turns to head towards the elevator so she can go to her own floor.  She’s not tired, and there is still guilt gnawing on the inside of her stomach. 

Luckily, Nat has work to do.

 

***

 

The ceasefire in Sokovia had been broken in less than three hours.  That was a personal best for Rumlow, if he did say so himself.  Civilian casualties were in the hundreds and climbing.  The world news organizations were calling it a “Humanitarian Disaster.”  Brock watched the headlines on his satellite phone as the STRIKE team waited for their hit time in the thick pine forest of the foothills. 

Brock had only been at the Sokovian HYDRA site not three months prior, escorting Loki’s staff to von Strucker.  HYDRA had been securing a base out here while Sokovia’s current "liberator-of-the-month" rebellion provided the cover.  The rebels and pro-government clashes had grown in violence to the point that the rest of the world had actually taken notice.  So Brock was here to put an end to that.  They couldn’t have the American government—and by extension, SHIELD—poking around out here.

“Hawk 7, this is Serpent 5, over.”

Lazily, Brock reached for the radio hand receiver.

“This is Hawk 7, go ahead, over.”

“We have confirmation that the target has reached Strike Zone Delta.  You are cleared to deploy Whiskey Sierra, over.”

“Roger that, Serpent 5.  Whiskey Sierra deployed time now.  Hawk 7, out.”

“Whiskey Sierra deployed time 1139.  Serpent 5, out.”

Brock gets out of the passenger seat of the HMMWV, walking calmly around to the military Jeep behind them.  He opens the back door.  Sitting so still, it’s eerie, the Winter Soldier stares unblinking at the head rest of the seat in front of her.  She doesn’t even react when Brock opens the door wider and digs his fingers hard into her thigh.  The Soldier looks more like a statue or a nightmarish doll than a human being at the moment.  Her muzzle covers most of her face.  Her thick goggles are in her left hand.  She’s dressed in her usual all black, shiny silver arm smudged with black paint.  Most of her heavy weaponry remains in the vehicle, but that doesn’t mean she’s unarmed.  On the contrary, Rumlow is never involved in the process of dressing the Soldier for battle, but he has done missions with her and he knows she has at least two dozen weapons on her at any given time. 

 

One of Brock’s subordinates walks towards him with a folder in hand.  The new recruit refuses to get close to the Soldier.  Instead, he uses the armored door as a shield and awkwardly hands Brock the folder around the door.  Brock scoffs, snatching from the kid.

“She’s harmless right now, dumbass,” Brock snarks.  “Aren’t you sweetheart?”

The Soldier, predictably, doesn’t reply.  The recruit only moves backwards, eyes wide as he looks at the Soldier.

“Watch,” Brock growls.  He pulls a small, last ditch knife from where it is hidden on his FLAC vest.  It’s no longer than an inch, but it’s sharp.  Brock sinks the knife into the Soldier’s flesh arm.

And the Soldier doesn’t move a muscle.

“See?  She’s like a rifle: safety is on.”

The recruit doesn’t seem convinced.  So Brock waves a hand to dismiss the kid and decides to ensure the kid doesn’t make it on another one of his missions ever again.    

“Alright, sweetheart,” Rumlow grumbles, turning back to where the Soldier is still motionless, bleeding silently and not moving a muscle.  “Zhelaniye.”  The Soldier’s jaw tightens.  “Rzhavyy.”  She swallows hard and blinks.  “Semnadtsat.”  Her cold, grey eyes flicker over to Brock for a moment.  “Rassvet.”  Her metal arm begins to whir.  “Pech.”  Both fists tighten.  “Devyat.”  The Soldier’s chest begins to heave as she starts to pant through her nose.  “Dobroserdechnyy.”  Her whole body convulses, one and then again.  “Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu.”  She takes a hard, sharp breath as her entire body coils like a spring.  “Odin.” The veins on her neck stand in contrast on her pale skin as her eyes widen and she stares over at Brock as if daring him to say the last word.  “Gruzovoy vagon.”

The Soldier deflates, her entire body going completely lax for a long moment before she straightens.  Like a machine coming to life, she moves slow and methodical, finally turning to face Brock completely.  She has eyes only for him, and they are unblinking, the pupils pinpoints.

“Dobroye ultro, soldat,” Brock recites.

“Ya gotov otvechat.”

 

***

 

“I’m still mad at you for interrupting my leave,” Clara says from the cockpit as Nat pulls on her boots.  “Lila has a karate competition today.” 

Nat rolls her eyes and refrains from saying something like, “like mother, like daughter.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll both be there,” Nat says instead.

Clara sighs dramatically before glancing back at Nat.

“So, taking a Stark jet.  I take it that Fury doesn’t know what we’re up to today?”  Clara asks.

Nar finishes strapping her boots and stands, going to the cockpit.

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Clara shoots Nat a look, and Nat shrugs.

“One of the perks of being a contractor instead of an agent,” Nat adds.

“A contractor _from_ the Amazons.  I assume Steph has no idea about our expedition either.”

“You ask too many questions, Barton,” Nat says.  “You’re making me regret inviting you along.”

“Well I would hate to miss all the fun,” Clara replies, a sarcastic pitch in her tone.  “What are we after again?”

“I’ve got a…lead.”

“That sounded certain,” Clara scoffs.

“It’s not.  But that’s what we’re here to figure out.”

Nat isn’t looking at Clara, but she can practically _hear_ Barton roll her eyes.  Nat just looks at the Blue Force.

“Alright, you can put it down here,” Nat says after a moment.  She glances up at the mountains in front of her and she knows that the capital is just beyond them.  “Hope you’re in the mood for a ride.”

Clara doesn’t make any snarky comments, even though Nat knows that she wants to.  But she has probably picked up on Nat’s anxiety—a rarity and something that only Clara would ever notice—and has decided to hold her tongue.  Clara puts the jet down in a thick bit of foliage cover and they both move into the cargo hold in over to retrieve their personal selections of weapons.

The four-wheelers are Stark tech, designed for the military, and completely silent as they ride through the foothills.  They ride for about twenty minutes when Clara signals to Nat.  Nat slows her ATV down and looks back to see Clara holding up her thermal GPS.

“I’ve got movement in a facility about three and a half kilometers Northwest of here that was last logged as abandoned,” Clara says uncertainly through their headsets.  “A lot of movement.”

Nat chews her lip.  This isn’t why they were in Sokovia on a covert—and unauthorized—mission.  No, she was following a lead given to her by an old contact, one that SHIELD had no knowledge of.  When the ceasefire was broken while civilians were being evacuated from the crumbling remains of the capital city, most intelligence agents had been uncertain whether it was rebels of pro-government forces.  But Nat’s contact, an old KGB friend who now had other gainful employment, had assured her that it was neither.  SHIELD had had suspicions that the entire civil war had been orchestrated by outside, mysterious forces for a while, but there had never been any real evidence.  Of course, SHIELD doesn’t have the contacts that the Black Widow has.  And, as a recently signed contractor—no longer an agent—Nat had no obligations to report her leads to Fury or anybody else.  Of course, she usually does at least give some details to Fury, but somehow, she feels now that bringing Fury in would only make things worse. 

There’s also a small part of Nat, a part that she doesn’t want to acknowledge, that simply _needs_ to know.

Her plan was to get in, get a visual and a possible confirmation, and get out.  Investigating this unknown location was not part of that plan.  So she tells Clara to mark it on the map to give to Stark later, and to Charlie Mike. 

The rebellion leader was moving to a safe house just South of the city, drawn there by the broken ceasefire and civilian casualties.  Nat had her suspicions that he had been baited there by the outside forces that were fueling the fighting and, most likely, broke the ceasefire with drone strikes.  Taking out the rebel leader would mean that the rebels, who had been gaining significant ground in recent months, would be forced back and chaos would ensue.  Chaos would be very good for someone, and it wasn’t the Sokovian government nor the rebellion. 

The safe house would be heavily guarded—impenetrable to most, but not to a Black Widow.  And Black Widows were only trained by one individual.  That individual is who Nat is after today.

When they arrive at the walled exterior of the compound, Nat’s suspicions are only confirmed.  Three dead guards lay at the open gate of the compound.  Clara nocks an arrow.  Nat had originally planned to move in covert, but as they enter the courtyard of the crumbling manor, that plan becomes unnecessary.  Dead bodies litter the ground, blood and entrails spread like some kind of dark contemporary artwork everywhere they look.

“Nat, what the fuck are we looking for?” Clara asks, voice low in Nat’s earpiece.

Clara never asks questions.  That’s part of their deal.  Nat and Clara always help each other out in the rare instances that they call upon the other, no questions asked.  But Clara is growing nervous, something that Nat had rarely seen happen.

“Just watch my six,” Nat replies, terse. 

They move towards the manor, slipping through the kicked open door, swinging and splintered as they creep inside.  Somewhere in the bowels of this ancient house, Nat can hear a struggle and machine gunshots.  Nat signals Clara to follow here, and they move through the house, following the trail of blood and bodies until they find a stone staircase descending into a basement.  The sounds of struggle grow louder as they descend. 

“Nat, I don’t like this,” Clara whispers.  Nat turns to see her eyes wide beneath the mask that Nat had insisted on.  They’re both in nondescript black clothing and masked.  Nat just signals Clara to be silent and they continue into the hallway below.

They are getting closer to the fighting.  The bodies they pass are fresher, many of the men still breathing and screaming.  Clara is still holding a nocked arrow, body as tight as her bowstring.  Finally, they reach a doorway through which the sounds of a fight are almost deafening.  Nat signals for a halt, and they both take a knee.

Using sign language, Nat tells Clara to stay put and to not let anyone in or out of the room that isn’t Nat.  Clara nods, tense, but compliant.  Nat stands to a crouch and, taking a deep breath, moves through the door.

Within, a person dressed in all black, save their shinning silver arm, is holding the barrel of an AR that is being fired by a rebel dressed in faded fatigues, aiming it with their fist at another rebel.  The room is filled with dead bodies, and only four guards remain alive, but not for long.

As soon as Nat moves into the room, the figure dressed in black turns towards her.  She is masked entirely, her lank brown hair hanging from her head to her shoulders, but Nat would know her anywhere.

There are very few things that Natasha Romanoff fears.  She has never been allowed to fear things before.  But the Winter Soldier is one of a very short list.

The Soldier straightens, tossing the guard in her grip almost lazily before pulling a knife from her boot and disposing of the other two living guards.  The entire move is fluid and quick and a moment later she is standing perfectly still, staring at Nat.  Gritting her teeth, Nat rolls her shoulders back, falling back on training.

“Soldier,” she says crisply in Russian.

“Black Widow,” the Soldier replies is Russian.  Nat is unsure how she knows that Nat is a Black Widow, but she doesn’t question it.

Nat doesn’t waste any time, she rushes the Winter Soldier.  The Soldier seems caught off guard, but only for a moment.  By the time that Nat is swinging for her, the Soldier is dropped into a fighting stance and Nat feels like she is hitting a brick wall.  Nat manages to get the Soldier into a hold, her legs wrapped around the upper body of the Soldier.  But the Soldier uses sheer strength to turn and throw Nat against a wall, again and again until Nat releases her.  Nat ducks and rolls as the Soldier’s fist connects with the concrete wall.  She moves around behind the Soldier, grabbing her in a quick headlock in order to get leverage and swing her legs up over the Soldier’s shoulders and get her in her hold again.  Now behind the Soldier, Nat reaches down and with one swift move, she rips the Soldier’s mask and goggles off.

The Soldier bucks and spins, throwing Nat against the wall once again.  Nat’s head slams against the wall and she releases the Soldier, falling to the ground hard but rolling and scurrying back to gain some distance.  The Soldier turns, and Nat looks at her uncovered face.

There is no mistaking who this person is.  She has haunted Nat’s dreams for years, her face is the only thing that makes Nat feel fear.  For nearly forty years, that face has kept Nat awake at night.  The face that had spelled her end, the individual who had ensured her sale to the KGB, the one who had ushered her into a life as a mind-slave.  But even though Nat could never forget her face, she had to be sure, she _had_ to be.

Because that face is the same face that Nat had seen Steph sketch three dozen times before.  That face was the face of Jamie Barnes.

What that means, Nat still isn’t sure, but she has her theories. 

“Soldat!” Nat snaps.  “Sbros komanda.”

The Soldier immediately goes lax, her eyes unfocused.  Nat stands and rushes from the room before the Soldier can reset.  Nat’s memories of commands are fuzzy.  They had been taught to her during brainwashing sessions, and when she had broken her conditioning, she had lost so much of that information.  But she knows that many commands are universal, and she had been lucky with that one.  She has no doubt that the Soldier’s commands are far more complicated and specialized than those of a common ground soldier or even those of a Black Widow. 

Nat grabs Clara and they run.  Two minutes later, they are leaving the compound.

“Well?” Clara insists once they are back on their ATVs.  “Did you get what you wanted?”

“Yes,” Nat replies, voice flat.  “Unfortunately.” 


	16. Winter Soldier: Part 1

 

Steph has never considered herself “lady-like.”  She’s never done well in nice, feminine clothing.  Of course, in the thirties, she had never scorned skirts the way Bucky had, but she had never particularly enjoyed wearing skirts.  Yet, currently, she’s dressed in a black pencil skirt and dark blue jacket, struggling to sit with her knees together beside Nat in the back of a limo.  Steph can’t stop fidgeting.  She bounces her leg nervously until Nat lands her manicured hand on it.

“Steph,” Nat says, voice low, “ _relax_.”

They’re on the way to the one of the few press events Steph has agreed to do.  She’s been trying to keep a low profile lately.  She hadn’t left Amazon Tower on the best of terms.  An emergency mission had come up and Steph and Nat had been called back to Washington.  That was two months ago and Steph had only seen Toni once again, at her birthday party in late May.  Steph had planned on having a heart to heart conversation with Toni then, but when she had arrived, Pepper was back in the Tower, glowing and feminine as ever.  Steph had gotten cold feet, too afraid to approach Toni while Pepper was around even though Toni had told her that Pepper knew that they had slept together and didn’t mind.  Apparently, she had been shacked up with some French male model the whole time.  It had been too much for Steph to deal with, and Toni had seemed to be avoiding her the entire time—always slipping out of the room that Steph had just entered, or getting into loud, group conversations when Steph approached.  Toni was deflecting, Steph knew that, and that meant that Steph had hurt Toni’s feelings.  Steph had left the Tower again on even more unsteady terms with her co-captain of the team. 

SHIELD’s been keeping Steph plenty busy.  Working with a STRIKE team is nice.  They’re highly trained, probably the most highly trained unit Steph has ever worked with.  When she had first joined up with them, she had actually felt unprepared.  It took two months of near constant drills before she had learned their maneuvers.  And when they worked, they were a well-oiled machine.  Quick, precise, perfect.  Steph had even started to bond with them, sort of.  They were highly trained mercenaries, mostly the strong, silent type-A sort.  That was fine, that was how Steph was when she was in the zone.  But it was hard spending _all_ of her time surrounded by people like that.  She had started to miss Toni’s wise cracks and Clara’s deadpan sense of humor, Thor’s steady frustrated presence and Banner’s nervous energy.  Spending time with the STRIKE team was a bit like spending time with a bunch of Toni’s carbon-copied robots.  Rumlow seemed like a decent guy, Steph had a good working relationship with him.  And there was always Nat, though she was always more of a spy than a solider, and she was often off on her own solo missions.

This last Zodiac mission had taken nearly six weeks, during which Steph had been staying in with Nat, Rumlow, and the rest of the STRIKE team in various safe houses.  Keeping a low profile wasn’t difficult when it was required for a mission. 

But today is the opening of a new exhibit at the Smithsonian, and Steph was pretty much obligated to be there.  Plus, she had been putting a lot of work into it. 

The “Welcome Back Captain America” Exhibit has been in the works for nine months.  Steph had donated nearly half of the artifacts from the boxes of her belongings collected from her apartment in Brooklyn and kept by the Starks until Toni had given it to her after their talk on the roof.  It also exhibited the other Captain Americas, specifically Isiah Bradley, per Steph’s vehement insistence.  In fact, Steph was supposed to be meeting him and his family at the Smithsonian.  There had been many new exhibits added to the existing “Captain America” showcase at the Smithsonian, but Steph had been dead set on accurately showing the legacy of Captain America, to the point that the staff had gotten sick of her.  She didn’t care though, because if they wanted to do an in depth examination of her life—the life of Stephanie Rogers, and not just Captain America—then she would be damn sure that they included the lives of everyone else who had sacrificed to make Captain America possible, and the lives off all the others who had taken up the shield since. 

Despite her many personal additions and changes to the exhibit, she was still not very excited about actually attending the event.  She hated the press and the tabloids, she really did.  Paparazzi loved Captain America, but they weren’t so kind to Stephanie Rogers.  Recently, a magazine had pronounced her the “sexiest woman on earth” and Steph had not really known how to feel about it.  Toni had just laughed, slapped her on the back, and “welcomed” her to the club during one of their friendlier conversations at her birthday party.  But when the press wasn’t concentrating solely on her looks, they were speculating all kinds of things about her life and attempting to invade her privacy.  Steph had never been a “celebrity” before.  When it had happened in the forties, she had been too busy overseas, fighting Nazis.  But now…one day some comedian was speculating what she looked like naked and the next a conservative pundit was calling her a poor role model for young women.   

The new President, President Ellis, was going to be in attendance.  So Steph couldn’t very well take a rain check, no matter how much she wants to.  Under the thick cake of makeup Nat had put on her face, Steph is sporting a quickly healing black eye.  She had broken a few ribs in her last fight and they were still making it rather painful to breath.  But Steph’s put on this ridiculous monkey suit that May told her makes her look “sophisticated,” and she’s in the back of this pretentious limo, sweating out her curls.  She hasn’t “dolled up” since 1939, so the high heels she’s in feel awkward and uncomfortable. 

The car pulls to a stop at the curb and Steph chews her lip nervously.  Nat shoots her one last glance before throwing open the door and climbing out of the limo.  There are cameras flashing everywhere, shouting reporters.  Nat, always suave and elegant, turns to hold out a hand and help Steph out of the limo.

Steph immediately regrets wearing heels.  Not only are they awkward, but they make her even _taller_ , which isn’t an assistance that Steph is in need of.  She feels like even more of a giantess walking through the crowd.  Reporters shout questions, but Steph keeps her eyes forward and concentrates on following Nat without tripping or stumbling.

There’s less press inside, which is a relief.  Nat continues to lead Steph around the corner.  Being inside, Steph is suddenly nervous.  Something about the Captain America exhibit has always been daunting.  And now that she has personally donated to it, she wasn’t really looking forward to going through it today and finding it littered with her personal belongings sealed in glass casings like ancient artifacts.  The very fact that some of her old things were considered “historical relics” caused an uncomfortable feeling that Steph couldn’t really name.

When they come into the cocktail room, Steph smiles wide at who is there to greet her.  Toni, dressed in an impeccably tailored three piece suit that makes Steph jealous, turns and throws her hands up when she sees Steph, grinning wide.  Steph accepts the hug.  She hadn’t known if Toni was going to hold true on her promise to attend, and she hadn’t known how she felt about either outcome.  But seeing Toni now just made Steph feel relieved.  Attending a press event was a lot like going into battle, it was always nice to have backup to take on some of the burden, and there was no better back up at a press event than Antonia Stark.

“Toni,” Steph breaths.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Like I would miss this spectacle!” Toni replies.  “I’m going to the underwear display first.  That’s a thing right?  The Red, White and Blue Skivvies display?”

Pepper, dressed in a beautiful gold dress, chides Toni from nearby.  Steph turns quickly to hide her sudden blush.  Beside Pepper is Clara, dressed in a tight pair of black pants and a loose white blouse, a heavy leather jacket over the ensemble.  She’s got a flask in her hand and she winks at Steph when she catches her eye before resuming her conversation with Melinda May. 

Steph is immediately more relaxed, knowing that her friends are here.  They eventually end up being led to a smaller room with a bigger bar by Toni who immediately pours them all a shot.  It’s not a moment later that Jen and Thor come into the room, two attendants that Steph had not expected in the least.  Jen is dressed in an almost ironically green gown while Thor is in something that is aggressively Asgardian.  Steph greets them feeling almost giddy.  The Amazons haven’t all been in the same room for some time.  Steph is quick to ask them both what they’ve been up to and how they found out about the event.  They spend several minutes catching up until Nat comes over and ushers Jen away.

Toni drives the conversation, and she unbuttons her shirt to show a gnarled purple scar where the arc reactor had once been.  They’re all smiling and happy and the mood is highly contagious.  Relief floods through Steph.  It takes her a moment to realize why, but the realization hits her suddenly.  She hadn’t been sure that the team could all be happy, together after the events of New York.  They hadn’t all been together since.  But Steph doesn’t know why she ever worried, looking around the room.  Because once you go into battle with someone, you are bound for life, the war taught Steph that.

Shortly before the time which the President is set to arrive, Steph turns to find Melinda May ushering none other than Peggy Carter into the room.

“Peggy!” Steph cries, rushing forward to take Peggy’s hand.  “You came?”

“Of course, love,” Peggy says with a smile.  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.  And I brought a friend.”

That’s when President Obama comes striding into the room with his wife and Steph nearly faints.  Michelle has her arm hooked through the arm of Isaiah Bradley.  His family is not far behind, his wife in a purple dress and Elie in a red white and blue ensemble, buzzing with energy.  Steph’s grinning ear to ear, feeling a bit light on her feet because Toni keeps feeding her shots, and practically giddy when Peggy introduces her.

In the end, the entire affair ends with an impromptu party in their cozy back room.  Steph shakes hands with President Ellis, signs some autographs, cuts a ribbon with ridiculously large scissors, and wanders through the exhibit with Peggy on her arm.  Steph blushes when she learns that a significant part of the new addition is a collection of charcoal sketches she had done during the war.  Peggy tells Steph that she had personally collected and donated them.  It had been a last minute addition, kept a secret from Steph on Peggy’s orders.  There’s faces drawn on envelopes, landscapes on scraps of napkins, Bucky laughing at a joke Happy Sam had told on a rare piece of paper Steph much have scrounged during the war. 

When Steph gets to the Sergeant Barnes Memorial, her friends silently wander to other sections.  Steph keeps a tight grip of Peggy as she runs a hand over the glass.  She’s seen the memorial plenty of times before, run her fingers over the engraved glass, she knows it by heart.  Now, there’s a television screen beside it, reciting information about Steph and Bucky growing up together and how Bucky was the only Commando to lose her life.  Steph bites her lip, but she doesn’t cry, just brushes her fingers over the engraved portrait of Bucky.

“I had to do her hair for that picture,” she says suddenly, barely aware of the words coming out of her mouth.

“Oh?” Peggy asks softly.

Steph nods.

“She was awful at it.  Not that I was any good, but if Bucky had had her way, she’d have just pulled it into a braid.  She hated having long hair, but the Defense Office insisted she keep it to help her cover in Europe.”  Steph stares into the eyes of the portrait.  “I was alright at curls.  I almost had to wrestle her into it.”

Steph doesn’t add that she had finally convinced Bucky into it by saying, “this is the picture people are gonna remember you by.”  At the time, it hadn’t felt like a heavy statement, Steph hadn’t meant it as a fear Bucky might die.  On the contrary, Steph had had complete faith that Bucky would become a hero spy and would have books written about her being a woman at war. 

That statement had held true.  Bucky was a hero and there were books written about her.  And here Steph stood, looking at the picture that everyone in the country remembers Bucky Barnes by.  Steph’s stomach twists bitterly.

“She’d have loved this party,” Steph adds quietly, touching the picture one last time before turning away.

Most of the rest of the tour Steph spends with the Bradleys.  Mrs. Bradley cries when she sees the portrait in the next exhibit hall.  Steph gets with them and President Obama for a picture from a Smithsonian photographer who promises that it’ll be added to the exhibit. 

The Amazons occasionally crack jokes or ask questions.  Toni is the most talkative of them all, poking fun at Steph at every occasion.  After the tour, they all end up back in the small room, drinking more of Toni’s expensive liquor, trading stories with President Obama and President Ellis. 

At one point, Steph pauses to glance around the room filled with her friends and she can’t help the warm feeling that spreads through her chest.  When she woke up from the ice, she had been certain that she would never be happy again.  But here she was, surrounded by people that she cares for and enjoying herself.  She has friends.  She might even have a family.

It turns out to be a pretty good day after all. 

 

***

 

Steph prefers taking her runs in the morning.  When she isn’t on mission with Nat and the rest of the team, she “lives” in her SHIELD provided apartment.  Sometimes, Nat joins her on her runs.  But more and more often, Nat is being sent out on missions without Steph.  Steph’s never been told that outright, but when Nat suddenly isn’t around, Steph knows that she’s out being Fury’s errand girl.  Steph isn’t sure how she feels about that.  She hasn’t brought it up to Fury or Nat, not entirely.  But she knows that they are up to something, so Steph is just biding her time until she can get a feel for exactly _what_ is being deliberately kept from her.

But during her morning runs, Steph tries not to think about those kinds of things.  It’s a nice reprieve from the constant politicking of SHIELD.  In World War II, Steph never dealt with the kind of political maneuvering that nearly everyone in SHIELD seems to be trained in.  She supposes that’s part of the territory with being a spy, but that doesn’t mean Steph’s comfortable with it.  When she’s at work, she’s constantly on the lookout, unsure if she’s being paranoid or not.  So when she takes her morning runs, she tries very very hard to leave all of that behind and just let her mind wander.

Steph runs early in the morning because she’s less likely to run into tourists or press or anybody that might recognize her as Captain America.  On the street, day to day, Steph can blend into a crowd pretty easily—at least she’s getting better at it.  But it’s hard to pretend to be just some average Jane Doe when you’re running 45 miles per hour.

It’s late summer, and the mornings are getting cooler, so the sunrises are even lovelier.  Steph is enjoying the crisp air and the pleasant view and the slight burn in her thighs as she pushes herself.  Today, there are even less people than usual.  Most days, there are at least a few other morning birds jogging on the paths that Steph takes around the Mall.  But today, there seems to only be one.  Steph passes her about two miles into her run, and laps her again a few minutes later.

“On your left,” Steph pants as she darts past the woman.

The woman glances over her shoulder but Steph is already on her other side.

Four miles later, and still only this one runner as they both pass the Lincoln Memorial.

“On your left,” Steph repeats.

This time, the woman hears her coming and turns to try to get a good look at her.

“Uh-huh, on my left.  Got it,” the woman pants, almost sounding annoyed, but Steph is already well past her.

When Steph passes her again, by the reflecting pool this time, the woman turns to look over her shoulder and shout, almost in anger.

“Don’t say it!” the woman cries.  “Don’t you say it!”

The woman speeds up and Steph grins, happy for a challenge, if only for a moment.

“On your left,” Steph breathes, trying not to laugh as she breezes by the woman.

“Come on!” the woman shouts, speeding up.  But, of course, it’s hard to catch up to a super soldier.

Steph finishes her laps, stopping by the capital building, and spots the woman nearby, sitting leaned against a tree, panting.  Steph smiles and approaches her, noticing the Air Force insignia on the woman’s sweat drenched top.

“Need a medic?” Steph calls.

The woman throws a glance over her shoulder, rolling her eyes as Steph approaches.  When Steph rounds the tree that the woman is leaned against, she laughs good naturedly.

“I need a new set of lungs,” the woman wheezes.  “Girl, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

Steph shrugs.  “Guess I got a late start.”

The woman laughs sardonically and Steph smiles.  It’s nice to talk to another person, one who isn’t a spy or an Amazon or an enemy.  Just a normal person, a fellow service member, someone who isn’t pulling out a phone and trying to get a selfie with Captain America.

“Really?” the woman chuckles.  “You should be ashamed of yourself.  You should take another lap.”  The woman pants, glancing up at Steph.  “Did you just take it?  I assume you just took it.”

Steph laughs.  Sarcasm is a nice reprieve from the constant, serious tone she deals with at work.  Steph points to the woman’s sweatshirt.

“What unit you with?” Steph inquires.

“58th Pararescue, but now I’m working down at the VA.”  The woman holds out a hand.  “Sam Wilson.”

Steph takes Sam’s hand, half shaking it, half pulling Sam to her feet.

“Steph Rogers.”

“Eh, I kinda put that together,” Sam says, leaning over to put her hands on her knees, still out of breath.  She straightens, panting but smiling.  “Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing.”

 _And_ that’s a wrap.  Steph should have known it wouldn’t take long.  There’s no such thing as a “normal” conversation with a stranger when you’re Captain America.  Being frozen for seventy years usually comes up pretty quickly.  Steph sighs.

“Yeah,” she replies flatly, glancing away.  “It takes some getting used to.”  Steph flashes a quick smile before starting to turn.  “It’s good to meet you, Sam.”

“It’s your bed, right?” Sam calls after her.

Steph pauses, turning to look back at Sam.

“What’s that?”

“Your bed, it’s too soft,” Sam clarifies.  “When I was over there, I’d sleep on the ground with rocks for pillows like a caveman.  Now I’m home, lying in my bed and it’s like…”

“Lying on a marshmallow,” Steph offers, unsure why she’s reengaging.  But Sam isn’t reaching for a phone and she isn’t crowding Steph.  On the contrary, there’s something in her eyes that is keeping Steph rooted, something Steph’s seen in the mirror plenty before.  “Feel like I’m gonna sink right to the floor.”  Sam sighs, nodding and glancing away.  “How long?” Steph asks.

“Two tours,” Sam replies.  She crosses her arms, good-natured smile returning to her face.  “You must miss the good old days, huh?”

Steph sighs.

“Things aren’t so bad,” she replies, looking into the distance.  “Food’s a lot better, we used to boil everything.  No polio is good…Internet, so helpful.  I’ve been reading that a lot, trying to catch up.”  It’s the same thing Steph says to everyone who asks that question for a year and a half.

Sam nods, licking her lips.

“Marvin Gaye, 1972.  Trouble Man soundtrack.  Everything you missed, jammed into one album.”

Steph nods thoughtfully.  That’s not one she’s heard before, not even from Toni.  Steph finds herself pulling her small notepad from the pocket of her sweatpants.

“I’ll put it on the list,” Steph says.  She scribbles “Trouble Man (soundtrack)” right under “Rocky (Rocky II?).”  Steph barely finishes writing when her phone goes off.  She pulls it from her pocket to find a message that can only be from Nat because it’s followed by what Clara had explained to Steph is a “smiley face.”

_Mission Alert.  Extraction Imminent.  Meet me at the curb_ _:)_

“Alright, Sam.  Duty calls,” Steph says, putting her phone and her notepad back into her pockets.  “Thanks for the run.”  Steph extends her hand and Sam takes it.  “If that’s what you want to call running,” Steph adds.

“Oh that’s how it is?” Sam laughs.

Steph shrugs, turning.

“That’s how it is.”

Sam laughs and Steph walks the short distance towards the street.

“Any time you wanna stop by the VA and make me look awesome in front of the guy at the front desk, just let me know,” Sam calls.

Steph turns, nodding.  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Steph hears Nat’s expensive car pulling up behind her.  It’s one that she “borrowed” from Toni back in May.  Steph watches Sam’s jaw drop a bit.

“Hey, ladies,” Nat calls from the car.  “Either one of you know where the Smithsonian is?  I’m here to pick up a fossil.”

Steph rolls her eyes, turning to get into the car.

“That’s hilarious,” Steph grumbles, climbing in. 

Sam is bent over a bit, staring at the car.  Nat smiles at her, and greets her with that pitch in her voice that Steph has become all too accustomed to.  Steph looks out the open window at Sam.

“Can’t run everywhere,” Steph calls.

Nat rolls up the window and pulls the Corvette out into traffic in one quick, smooth movement.

“Who’s your friend,” Nat asks, glancing over at Steph with an arched eyebrow.

“Oh don’t take that tone,” Steph says, rolling her eyes.  “Just someone I met running.”

“She’s cute,” Nat replies smoothly.  Steph rolls her eyes again.  For whatever reason, Nat has been pressing Steph to go on dates.  Steph has no idea the reason, she can’t imagine why Nat would be so concerned with her love life.  Ever since Nat walked in on Steph and Toni...having a pillow fight, she’s been acting oddly eager to throw Steph at _other_ women.  It made Steph nervous at first.  Then she got a little angry, felt like Nat was almost _insulting_ Toni.  Steph’s feelings about the whole thing were still woefully unresolved, but Toni hadn’t been the one to run out without a word, that had been Steph.  What did Nat know that Steph didn’t?    

“Well, she’s probably single.  You should hit her up.  Names Sam Wilson, works at the VA,” Steph says.

“Exciting,” Nat purrs, eyes on traffic.

“Just tell me about this mission,” Steph demands, reaching to turn the radio down. 

“How do you feel about going on a cruise?” Nat asks, glancing over with a hint of a smile.  “Fury’s treat.”

 

***

 

Pierce doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like it at all.  He’s so close to victory that he can almost taste it.  The Project Insight satellite launch vessel being commandeered by pirates is just too much of a coincidence.  SHIELD’s vessels haven’t been threatened, let alone taken over, in six years, nobody has the fucking balls for that kind of move.  Nobody has the balls unless they’re being paid _extremely_ well.  And only Hydra pays that well for that kind of action.  So Pierce is more than suspicious.

It has to be Fury, it has to be.  The woman’s been retracting lately, sending her lap dog, Black Widow, on missions that she thinks Pierce doesn’t know about.  But Alexander Pierce didn’t become the head of Hydra _and_ SHIELD by accident.  He knows a mole—a _rat_ —when he sees one.  Fury’s been working.  There’s no doubt in Pierce’s mind that that bitch knows _something_.  It’s just a matter of what, exactly.

The timeline is going to have to be moved up.  Nicole has been moving her chess pieces to strategic positions on the board.  Pierce has noticed.  Rogers is in DC with Black Widow.  Banner has been meeting with Dr. Sarah Strange.  Stark is in New York, that god-awful tower of her’s on a complete blackout, no way in or out, real or virtual.  Barton is in the wind, probably on some secret mission for Fury.  Hill is constantly moving locations.  Pierce knows an eminent strike when he sees one. 

But Pierce has the upper hand.  Maybe Fury knows about Hydra.  Maybe she’s suspicious and maybe she has contingencies in place.  But Pierce has the Winter Soldier, his ace in the hole and the one thing that can take out Captain America.  Fury is probably banking on Rogers’ phenomenal survivability. 

It’s time to reveal his own chess pieces and strike for a decisive victory.  It has to happen now.  Pierce is ready, he’s been preparing for this moment, has known it was coming for a long time.  There is no doubt in Pierce’s mind that Fury hired the pirates.  She would need an excuse to get Black Widow on board.  That means that Fury is going to have all the information that she needs to make her move in a matter of hours.  So Pierce is going to have to move quicker.

Pierce pulls up a holo screen and calls Dr. Gertrude.

“I want the Winter Soldier prepped and ready for short notice ops by 0300,” Pierce orders curtly.  “I’ll be at the bank at 1100 hours to prep her myself.  Time now, we are enacting Contingency Charlie.”

It was time to take Fury’s Queen.


	17. Winter Soldier: Part II

“HVT retrieved,” the message reads on Nicole’s encrypted burner.  It’s followed by another one quickly after.  “The Eagle knows.”

Shit.

It’s not ten minutes later than Steph is storming into Fury’s office, still dressed in her combat gear, full battle rattle except her helmet and her shield.  She’s dirty, sweaty, clearly hasn’t even paused since the debriefing.  Fury knows Rogers well enough by now to know that she’s been fuming, tapping her heels against the ground in the debriefing, rushing out as soon as she’s dismissed.  Fury can almost hear the anxious _tap tap_ of Rogers’ heel against the ground, it’s a sound she’s become so familiar with.  Rogers is suspicious, Nicole knows that.  And she has a right to be, Nicole knows she isn’t stupid—far from it.  But Fury also knows well enough that she can trust Steph to not bring up Black Widow’s little detour during the debriefing.  Mostly because Steph will want to confront Fury herself.    

Nicole knows that Rogers has been waiting on a catalyst, and she knows that this is probably it.  Nicole also knows that, in the next few days, things are going to get extremely messy.  But Fury can’t let on that she knows anything, not to Rogers, not yet.

“You just can’t stop yourself from lying!” Rogers shouts, storming towards Nicole.

Fury leans back in her chair with a sigh.  She’s done this job long enough, she knows how to act casual when she needs to.  Business as usual.

Steph keeps charging until she is nearly butted up against Nicole’s desk.  She’s angry and leveling accusations, but Fury just sighs.  Semantics. 

Stay calm.  Show sentiment when needed.  Level with her emotionally.  Keep her calm.

“It’s called compartmentalization,” Fury says, tone purposefully bored.  “Nobody spills the secrets because nobody knows them all.”

“Except you,” Steph replies coolly. 

Not yet, Fury thinks, but soon.

More semantics.  Share a “secret.”  Tell a personal story.  Nicole is lucky that Rogers isn’t a spy.  Black Widow would see these tactics from a mile away, they’re practically straight out of the “Espionage Handbook,” if there was such a thing.

Nicole has to let Steph know what’s going on without _actually_ letting her know what’s going on.  Give her a glimpse of the helicarriers, get her suspicious—maybe even angry—but definitely alert.  Rogers needs a heads up for what’s coming, but Nicole knows she can’t say it outright.  Because Steph _isn’t_ a trained spy.  She’s brash, emotional, acts on impulse.  So Nicole needs to control that impulse, point it in the right direction and have faith that Steph will do what Captain America does best. 

Fury knows that she’s outnumbered in the fight that’s about to come.  She can’t assemble the Amazons, that’d draw too much attention.  So Nicole knows that she needs to let Rogers off her leash, send her chasing a bone and trust her to put the pieces together.  Fury needs distraction, noise, chaos.  Because with chaos, one soldier can seem like twenty.

 

***

 

Peggy…is getting worse.  What was forgetfulness a year ago is now full on memory loss.  The onset was quick, only in the last few months.  Her brilliant mind is finally succumbing to her age, and it’s a painful reminder of exactly who Steph is, of what Steph has lost.

If she loses Peggy, she’ll have nothing left of the life she had before.  Peggy is the final tether and when that’s gone, Steph is afraid she’ll simply be afloat, drifting away to nowhere.

What’s more, Peggy is probably the most “normal” of Steph’s interactions with people anymore.  Peggy is hardly a normal woman, she’s just as exceptional as the rest of Steph’s friends, but with her age came a kind of quiet.  A quiet, Steph realizes, that she has been retreating to.  More and more, Steph has been visiting the home in which Peggy resides, if only to sit in a dim room, watch television and sketch in companionable silence.  Steph has come to rely on that escape. 

Steph’s mind is busy, anxiety eating at its edges like an insect.  There’s the low hum in the back of her mind, the same hum that sent her into recruiting stations, the same hum that drove her into Azzano alone, the same hum that made her put the Valkyrie down in the Artic.  Carrying out missions with the STRIKE team had been easy.  Following directions, having a command—a rigid order that Steph had always liked about being in a military unit. 

A rigid order that she liked until it told her to do something that made that humming start up again.  Maybe she was never meant to be in the military, maybe it was a fantasy that she could follow orders and be a soldier.  Has she ever really been a soldier?  Truly?  Or has she just gotten lucky?  Gotten to put on the costume of a soldier but follow her heart instead of the orders of a commander?

The quiet of Peggy’s room is interrupted by a sudden episode.  The nurses usher Steph out, tell her to come back later in the evening or tomorrow.  Apparently, Steph is “triggering.”  With Peggy’s mind going, seeing Steph still young, the same she had been seventy years ago, confuses her, triggering her dementia.  So Steph has to leave.

Steph is wandering for a while before she realizes where she’s going.  Why on earth she is walking up the VA steps, she has no idea.  But she thinks that maybe, she just wants _someone_ in her life to be normal, someone whose outlook isn’t skewed by obligation or orders.  Steph asks the guy at the front desk for Sam Wilson and hurries away before the guy’s eyes can widen even further with realization.

Sam finishes saying goodbye to her group and wanders down the hall towards a display table full of pamphlets.  She looks up at Steph with an easy smile and Steph is grateful when she doesn’t cause a scene.

“Look who it is,” Sam says, moving to straighten a pile of flyers.  “The running woman.”

Steph moves closer and leans against the wall, hands in her pockets.

“Caught the last few minutes,” she tells Sam.  And she had.  Steph hadn’t meant to snoop, but when she had been moving through the doorway that the young man at the front had motioned to, she had caught a bit of a testimonial being given by a shaky voice.  “Pretty intense.”

“Yes, sister.  We all got the same problems,” Sam replies easily.  For some reason, Steph believes it, and it helps put her at ease, just a bit.  “Guilt.  Regret.”  Sam fidgets, glancing around and Steph _knows_ that look and it twists her stomach.

“You lose someone?” Steph asks softly.

Sam nods, growing a bit tense.  “My wingman, Riley.”  Sam pauses and shrugs weakly.  “Flying a night mission.  Standard PJ rescue op.  Nothing we hadn’t done a thousand times before.”  Steph feels her mouth go dry.  She tries to swallow the sudden lump in her throat, tries not to let Sam see that, in Steph’s eyes, there’s snowy mountains suddenly around them like a ghostly haze.  “Until an RPG knocked Riley’s dumbass out of the sky.”  Sam’s voice gets weak.  She’s quiet for a long moment and Steph is almost afraid of what she might say next.  “Nothing I could do.”  Steph isn’t going to cry, not here, not now.  Sam glances around again and Steph wonders if she’s holding back tears too.  Steph feels so stupid for getting so emotional so quickly.  “It’s like I was up there just to watch.”

For a moment, Steph isn’t in the plain brown hallway of the DC Veteran’s Affairs Office.  For a moment, Steph is gripping the torn open side of a freight car, arm outstretched.  She stares in horror and utter disbelief at something that her mind simply can’t comprehend.  Bucky.  Falling.  She feels her mind tear in two.  One part of her is screaming, “BUCKY IS ABOUT TO DIE!” while the other part absolutely refuses to accept a reality in which Bucky isn’t by Steph’s side. 

And the absolute worst part is the look in Bucky’s eyes as she plummets.  Steph only catches the briefest glance, but they burn into her brain, into her very soul.  Because it isn’t fear, or terror, or anger, or any of the things that Steph could justify.  It’s just…sadness.  And even to this day, Steph has no idea what that means.

Steph’s lips are moving.  “I’m sorry,” she thinks she’s saying even though she isn’t exactly sure who she’s saying it to.  She is still seeing Bucky’s eyes, full of unknowable, profound sadness.

“After that,” Sam is continuing, and it almost surprises Steph to suddenly find herself back in that brown hallway.  “I had a really hard time finding a reason for being over there, ya know?”

Yes, Steph does know.  Good God, does she fucking know.

Steph sighs, swallowing hard again and flailing for a moment, looking for something else to say.

“Are you happy now?” she finally settles on.  “Back in the world?”

God, what would that even feel like?  Steph has never existed without someone or something to ground her.  First it was her mother, then it was Bucky, then it was the Army, and now it’s SHIELD.  She’s back to that dread building up inside of her, that fear of simply…being adrift with no guiding light.  What would she do?  Who would she be?

“Hey, the number of people giving me orders is down to about zero,” Sam says, the friendly, easy smile returning to her face, lightening the mood.  “So, hell yeah.”  Sam pauses.  “You thinking about getting out?”

Steph immediately shakes her head, refusing to look up from where she’s been staring at pamphlets for the last minute.  “No,” she replies quickly.  But then she pauses and her mind spins.  Steph shrugs and finally looks up at Sam, attempting a smile.  “I don’t know,” she admits sheepishly.  “To be honest, I don’t know what I would do with myself if I did.”

Sam dramatically pretends to be pondering the question. 

“Ultimate fighting?” Sam suggests with a laugh.  “Just a great idea off the top of my head.”

Steph smiles at that, her stomach slowly unknotting. 

“Seriously,” Sam says, tone dropping.  “You could do whatever you want to do.” 

Steph sighs, again refusing to meet Sam’s eyes, instead peering just over her shoulder at a poster about VA housing loans.

“What makes you happy?” Sam prods gently.

The question causes that sinking feeling to return.  Steph finally looks Sam in the eye.

“I don’t know.”

 

 

 

 

***

 

The Winter Soldier waits at checkpoint 3, hidden in shadow.  She stares out at the street, barely noticing the people and cars that pass.  She only waits for the signal.  The stillness in her mind echoes the stillness of her body.  The STRIKE team will be ushering the target past checkpoint 1, into strike zone 2.  The Winter Soldier waits only for one of two commands.  The first command will mean that the target has made it out of the strike zone and past checkpoint 2 and that the Winter Soldier will be officially deployed.  The second command will be a stand down, if the STRIKE team is able to take out the target in strike zone 2.

There’s a nagging in the back of the Soldier’s head, something oddly familiar but she pushes it down and ignores it.  Concentrating too long on the sensation makes her head pound, and she needs to remain alert.

“Soldat,” she hears through the radio piece in her ear.

“Responding,” the Solder replies in Russian, voice croaking from disuse.  She’s only spoken four words since she was woken up yesterday.

“Target has passed strike zone 2.  Deploy now.”

The Soldier rolls her shoulders back, hoisting her M4, outfitted with the heavy magnetic mine plate launcher, from the low ready to high ready.  Her metal arms whirs, coming to life and she steps purposefully out from the shadows and strides without pause into the street.  Around her, civilians see her, see her weapon and stare in fear at her masked face.  Many of them scream or scramble.  But she ignores them.  Standard protocol is no witnesses, but today she has been directed not to take out civilians.  She doesn’t question the order, the Soldier never questions an order.

The black SUV, heavily damaged with bullet holes, cracked windshield and broken windows—obviously the target, even without the tracking display being displayed inside the Soldier’s goggles—is coming towards her at high speed.  For a moment, the Soldier doesn’t think that the driver sees her.  The Soldier stops walking and brings the sights up to her eye.  The mine fires, skidding across the street for a moment before the SUV drives over it.  The magnets engage and it disappears up under the vehicle.

The explosion is black and red, throwing the vehicle up and over its nose.  As the SUV arcs through the air, the Soldier sidesteps to the right to avoid the point at which the roof of the vehicle collides with the concrete.  The upside down SUV slides along the street for about 200 meters.  Civilians are really screaming now, running in all directions.  Other cars blare their horns and veer off the road, their occupants jumping from them to run.  The Soldier barely notices.  She has eyes only for the target.

The SUV has come to a halt, the driver’s side facing away from the Soldier.  She turns and strides towards it.  There is no reason to hurry, the driver is trapped and most likely unconscious. 

The Soldier reaches for the crumpled passenger door, grabbing it with her metal hand and tearing it away from the car.  She flings it behind her.  The screams of the civilians is starting to become grating, but she doesn’t turn her attention away from her mission.  She bends at the waist to look into the compartment.

There is nobody inside. 

Instead, she finds a hole drilled, most likely with a laser, through the roof of car and down into the concrete.

The Soldier doesn’t pause, she shimmies into the crumpled vehicle and throws herself into the hole.

Dropping into a sewer line, her feet splash into ankle-deep water.  The Soldier stands perfectly still, listening for the sound of splashing footsteps to her left or right.  There is silence.  Pulling a flash grenade from her belt, she tosses it to her left.  Light fills the darkened tunnel and water sprays as the grenade goes off.  Once silence falls again, she listens for running, splashing, any indication of which way the target went.  When she hears nothing, she switches the display on her goggles to look for heat ad UV signatures.  To her right, there is the remnants of a handprint on the wall, so she turns and begins at a slight run down that direction.  She knows that she’s going the right way when 100 meters later, she finds a swipe of blood at waist level.

There is a voice demanding response in her ear, but she ignores it for now.  When she gets to a manhole ladder with UV signatures on it, she tells her handler that she is in pursuit of the target, and climbs up, out onto the street again, tossing the heavy manhole cover away with her metal arm easily.

A trail of blood crosses the street.  Fury, Nicole J is smart.  She’s retraced her steps so that her trail leads in three different directions.  She’s quick, too, because the Soldier sees so sign of her.  Civilians are screaming again, looking at her weapon, but the Soldier just squats and uses her metallic fingers to brush over the droplets of blood.  The sensors in her fingertips tell her which is the freshest, and she follows that way.

Four blocks away, the trail ends.  Fury, Nicole J most likely stopped her bleeding, knowing that she would be followed.  So the Soldier turns and walks into the nearest building, barreling past anyone who gets in her way to the stairs.  Her display shows her the layout of the building, and she climbs the stairs, kicking open doors until she makes it to the roof. 

Moving building to building, she searches for Fury, Nicole J from above.  After an hour, when the sun is starting to set, she finally gets a heads up notification on her goggles that facial recognition from a traffic camera put Fury, Nicole J on Ohio Avenue three minutes prior.  The Soldier is close.  Instead of going back to street level and causing a scene, she jumps from building to building until she finally catches a visual of the target.  The woman is limping, broken arm held close to her chest.  Her black trench coat trails behind her as she moves inside an apartment building a block away.

The Soldier doesn’t have her sniper rifle.  The effective range of her M4 is considerably smaller, and she is going to have to get closer.  That’s fine, the building across the street is close enough for a clear shot.  Keeping her eyes on the windows of the apartment building, she moves into position.  Settling into a prone firing position, she pulls her M4 flush against her shoulder, locking her mechanical elbow into place so her sights won’t change.  As she peers through the scope, she searches for a sign of Fury, Nicole J. 

The Soldier has no concept of time, she has no idea how long she stays in that one spot.  It’s nothing she isn’t used to, laying perfectly still, watching through the scope of her weapon for a sign of her target.  Every movement she can catch a glimpse of through the windows, she investigates.  But they never turn out to be her target.  She remains prone, watching, waiting. 

Finally, after several hours, the Soldier spots something strange.  It’s a figure, hidden by shadow, climbing up the fire escape of the building.  The person is large, most likely female, judging from their long blonde hair.  Something in the back of the Soldier’s skull twists, a memory trying to get free, but she ignores it.  She tracks the oddly familiar blonde locks up the building.  The woman scales the fire escapes with ease, jumping incredible heights to reach the next landings, until she is on the fourth floor.  The Soldier watches her slide a window open and slip inside. 

The Soldier’s heads up display shows her the layout of the building and she knows that the three windows, including the one the woman just slipped inside, belong to the apartment she just entered.  The Soldier shifts slightly to get a better angle on the apartment, never taking her eyes off the dark windows.

Inside, she can see the woman, a dark mass, creeping through the apartment.  The Soldier’s ears can pick up loud music coming from the open window.  The music is…familiar.  Much like the woman’s blonde hair, the big band music causes a memory struggle to gain purchase on the edges of the Soldier’s mind.  She tries to push it down, but it’s even harder than before.  Because it’s more than just familiar.  These two triggers, so close together, can’t be a coincidence, and a figure is forming at the edge of the Soldier’s mind.

In the apartment, the woman ducks behind a wall and disappears.  The Solider continues to watch the windows and ignore the nagging memory that is trying to push through a heavy haze in her mind.  It’s starting to give the Soldier a headache, and her vision is going blurry.  She shakes her head violently, trying to clear her mind.  She has to take out the target, she has to stay focused.

A light comes on inside the apartment.  The Soldier can see through the second window, past a narrow doorway.  The blond woman steps into that doorway and she carries in her arm

A shield.

Red and blue with a white star in the middle.  The very sight of it makes the Soldier suddenly dizzy.  She feels as if she might throw up but at the same time, the memory finally forces its way through.  The blonde woman, hand extended, her hair whipping in the wind and snow.  The blonde woman holds that shield, but the Soldier had just held it a moment before.  There is a feeling in the Soldier’s stomach, the feeling of free fall and she stares up at the blonde woman, knowing that she will never see her again.

And it makes the Soldier want to cry.

There’s something dripping down the Soldier’s face and she knows that her nose is bleeding. It’s beneath her mask though, so there is nothing she can do but let the blood run into her mouth.  She grits her teeth against the migraine the memory has caused and forces herself to watch through the scope as the apartment goes dark again.

From the street light, with her enhanced eyesight, the Soldier can still see the blonde woman with the shield standing in the doorway.  _Dumbass_ , a voice in her head chuckles.  It’s not the Soldier’s voice, but it is.  Whoever this woman is, she is a dumbass for standing in such a clear line of sight.  But the Soldier has never used the word “dumbass” before, and when she thinks it, it’s with a tinge of endearment. 

There’s movement inside that isn’t the blonde woman.  The Soldier refocuses, watching as Fury, Nicole J stands and comes just barely into view through the doorway.

The Soldier doesn’t hesitate, she takes the shot.

When Fury, Nicole J falls forward, the Soldier gets an even better line of sight on her.  She shifts slightly, metal arm whirring, and fires twice more.

“Target eliminated,” the Soldier reports in Russian.

Inside the apartment, Fury, Nicole J falls to the ground.  The blonde woman looks around wildly before bending down and pulling the target out of the Soldier’s sight and further into the apartment.  Finally getting away from the windows, the Soldier thinks, that endearment that is so unfamiliar still in her mind. 

The Soldier should be standing, she should be moving to the next rally point, but something is keeping her rooted to the spot.  For some reason, she wants to see the blonde woman just one more time.  For some reason, she felt that she would never see the blonde woman ever again.  She _needs_ just one more look at her.

Someone else is taking over the Soldier’s body.  She stands, putting herself in full view of the apartment windows like an idiot, and moves across the roof to try to get a better view into the apartment, pulling off her goggles as she goes.  There’s more movement inside.  The Soldier ducks down a bit but doesn’t leave.  Her feet feel like concrete, two sides battle in her mind.  A high whine in her brain is screaming at her to flee, to get to the rally point.  She knows that she is going to be punished if she doesn’t get out of there.  But a louder voice is screaming one word at her.

Steph.

An intercepted radio transmission comes in through the Soldier’s ear piece and brings her back to reality.

“Foxtrot is down, he’s unresponsive,” a frantic voice says.  “I need EMT.”

“Do you have a 20 on the shooter?” a reply comes.

The Soldier turns and runs.  Somehow she knows that the blonde woman with the shield is going to follow her.  Somehow she knows that the blonde woman with the shield _can_ follow her.  Her suspicions are confirmed when a moment later, she hears glass shattering and she looks back to find the woman leaping from the window of her apartment, shield first, and diving through the window of the building that the Soldier is on.  The Soldier continues to run, listening to the absolute racket that the blonde woman is making while pursuing her several floors below.

The Soldier jumps from the roof of the building that she’s on to the one across the street, one story shorter.  She lands, light on her feet, and keeps her eyes forward.  But behind her she can hear more glass shattering, and the sound of someone landing hard, not far behind her.  A moment later, there is an oddly familiar sound coming at her.  The Soldier knows that the blonde woman has just thrown her shield like a Frisbee.

Just before the Soldier reaches the edge of the roof, she turns slightly, extending her left arm and catching the shield just before it collides with her.

The blonde woman stands, staring in disbelief, twenty feet away.  Up close, the Soldier’s mind is screaming in recognition of the woman’s face.  But the woman shows no sign that she recognizes the Soldier.  A sadness, starting in the Soldier’s stomach, begins to consume her.  Before it can overtake her, she shifts and throws the shield back at the woman just as hard.  The woman buckles when it collides with her body and the Soldier turns and steps off the building, landing hard on the sidewalk four stories below.

Usually, the Soldier would run, knowing that nobody would follow her off the roof and that nobody could catch her.  But she knows that this blonde woman can.  So instead, she steps back into a shadowed alleyway.

Glancing up, the Soldier catches one last glimpse of the woman before turning and running the other way.

 

***

 

Nat doesn’t bother trying to park her car, she knows that JARVIS will do it for her anyway.  She breaks into a run as soon as she’s out, rushing into the hospital, trying hard not to let her mind jump to conclusions, even though the conclusion that she’s reached isn’t so much of a jump.

Steph is in the viewing room, staring through the glass at the OR.  Nat skids to a halt beside Steph, eyes falling on Fury.  Her heart clinches at the sight and she swallows hard.

“Is she gonna make it?” Nat breathes, concentrating on keeping her heart rate down.

“I don’t know,” Steph mutters, sounding far away.

Nat grits her teeth.  She’s afraid to ask her next question.

“Tell me about the shooter,” Nat demands, voice shaking.

“She’s fast…” Steph replies weakly.  “Strong.”  Steph pauses, shifting, and Nat knows what is coming next.  “She had a…metal arm.”

Nat forces herself not to react, keeps her eyes on Nicole.  She’s been trained for moments like this, literally from birth, yet everything in her is screaming to tell Steph the truth.

Maria Hill walks calmly into the room.  Nat doesn’t even look over at her.

“Ballistics?” Nat asks flatly.

“Three slugs, no rifling.  Completely untraceable.”

“Soviet-made,” Nat finishes quietly.

Hill turns to look at Nat suspiciously. 

“Yeah…”

Nat doesn’t reply, because inside the OR, the heart rate monitor is starting to beep loudly.  The doctors and nurses move around frantically and a defibulator is rolled over.  Nat grinds her teeth.  Nicole Fury was the closest thing that Nat has ever had to a mother, and she knows well enough to realize that she’s about to watch her die. 

“Don’t do this to me, Nicole,” Nat breaths, shuddering and holding back tears.

The doctors begin to defibulate, once, and then again.  No pulse.  Nat’s breathing quickens.

“Don’t do this to me,” Nat whispers.  “Don’t do this to me, Nicole.  Don’t do this to me.”

The doctor calls the time of death quietly.  Nat blinks back tears but refuses to look away.  Beside her, Steph turns and leaves the room.  Hill follows soon after. 

Nat isn’t going anywhere.

This isn’t the first death on an operating table she has witnessed.  They all follow the same routine.  Time of death is called.  Breathing tube is removed, monitors are disconnected.  Fury’s chest cavity is loosely sewn back together and the blood is washed away by the nurses as the doctors pull off their scrubs.  Nat digs her fingernails into her palms until she feels blood. 

Nat had never had a home, certainly not in the Red Room, and not as a Soviet mind-slave.  She had spent her entire life alone until Nicole Fury had decided to give her a chance.  She had pulled Natasha under her wing, mentored her, personally seen to her advancements through SHIELD.  Nicole had hand selected Nat for the Amazons.  And despite what anyone might say about Nicole, she was a good woman, truly.  She did the hard things that had to be done to protect people and she had expected the same from the agents she mentored. 

The nurses move Fury onto a rolling gurney and move her into a private room, pulling a clean white sheet over her body, up to her neck.  Nat walks numbly out of the viewing room.  A nurse directs her to the private room, but the man’s voice sounds far away. 

She doesn’t know how long she is standing there, just staring at Nicole’s body, forcing herself to come to terms with reality before she hears Steph slip into the room behind her.  Steph doesn’t approach any closer, just leans against the furthest wall.  She refuses to turn and look at Steph.  There are tears on her face and the longer Steph just stands there, the angrier Nat becomes. 

Nicole had been in Steph’s apartment when the Winter Soldier—when _Bucky Barnes_ killed the first woman to truly give a fuck about Nat. 

Hill comes into the room and says something quietly to Steph.  Nat still refuses to turn around, even when she hears Steph push off the wall and approach.

“Natasha,” Steph says quietly.

Nat grinds her teeth for a moment before reaching out and laying a hand on Nicole’s forehead. 

 _Goodbye_ , she thinks, _thank you, for caring when nobody else did.  For treating me like a human being._

Nat turns and, without a glance at Steph, brushes past her and out of the room.

She storms down the hall, mind spinning, holding back more tears when she hears Steph chasing after her.

“Natasha!” Steph calls.

Nat turns, fury clear on her face and glares at Steph.  The look causes Steph to halt.

“Why was Fury in your apartment?” Nat demands.

Steph shrugs.

“I don’t know,” Steph sighs.

Before Nat can ask another question, Brock fucking Rumlow is marching down the hall behind Steph, calling for her, telling her they want her back at SHIELD.

“Yeah, give me a second,” Steph replies.

“They want you _now_ ,” Brock barks, his tone threatening. 

Nat narrows her eyes at the man.  She has never trusted him.  He reminds her too much of so many other mercenaries she’s known in her long life, and none of them were ever trust-worthy.  She knows that Brock has no moral compass whatsoever, and that’s coming from Natasha Romanoff.  Steph shifts uncomfortably, tone growing challenging when she replies.

“ _Okay_.”

Steph turns back to Nat, looking a little paler than before.  Nat watches her pupils dilate, can see sweat forming on her brow and Nat knows that Steph knows something that she isn’t sharing.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Nat accuses before turning on her heel and marching off once again.

Steph knows something, Nicole told her something, and Nat is going to find out what.  She continues to walk like she is going to leave the hospital, but she turns the last moment and walks in a quick circle, coming back around to the other end of the hall she just left.  Steph is standing alone, hands on her hips, clearly stressed.  Nat watches as Steph turns and looks at the vending machine that is being refilled by a worker to her right. 

Steph moves quickly, trying to disguise what she’s doing.  She asks the worker for some gum, handing the man a dollar bill from her pocket.  The man just nods and waves a hand.  Steph leans forward, reaching into the machine.  She thinks that her body is blocking Rumlow’s view, and maybe it is, but Nat can see clearly as the hand that had gone into her pocket to pull out the dollar darts quickly upward.  She reaches further into the machine than necessary and when she retracts her hand, she holds a pink pack of bubblegum, which she shoves into her pocket before turning and walking quickly to where Rumlow is waiting impatiently for her.

Rumlow calls the STRIKE team to move out, and they turn and all leave the hall together.  Nat waits a few minutes as the worker finishes up with the vending machine, shutting it and locking it before moving onto the next one in the next hall.  Nat waits even longer just to be sure that nobody from the STRIKE team remains on patrol.  Finally, after about twenty minutes, she strolls casually down the hall, pulling a five dollar bill from her pocket. 

Behind three packs of bubblegum, Nat sees what Steph has hidden.  It’s a good fucking thing that Nat saw her do it, because the thing is slightly bigger than the packs and fairly obvious to anybody who is even a little observant.  Nat feeds her money into the machine and punches in the number, four times in total, until the spiraling rod drops Steph’s secret into the compartment.

Nat pulls it out, but she knows already exactly what it is.  It’s a data piece, the same data piece she had created on the Lemurian Star.  The same data piece that Nicole had sent Nat to retrieve.

The data piece that Nicole had died for.


	18. Winter Soldier: Part III

“Captain, you were the last one to see Nicole alive,” Pierce says evenly, turning from where he was staring out the window to give Steph a heavy look.  “I don’t think that’s an accident, and I don’t think you do either.”

Steph concentrates on keeping her face neutral.  This is the first time she’s met this man, but she’s heard plenty about him.  He’s on the World Security Counsel and Nat really does not like him.  At the moment, Steph is unsure who she can trust.  If SHIELD’s been infiltrated, that means that Steph already dubious faith in the organization has been shattered.  She doesn’t know if she can trust anyone, not even Natasha.  Nat had certainly been acting rather shady in the hospital.  But Nat is an Amazon.  Furthermore, she’s Steph’s friend.  So, at least for now, she’s going to trust her judgement.

“So I’m gonna ask again,” Pierce continues.  “Why was she there?”

It’s the same thing Nat had wanted to know.  Whatever was on that drive that Fury had given Steph, it was clearly important. 

“She told me not to trust anyone,” Steph says carefully, watching Pierce’s eyes.

“I wonder if that included her,” Pierce replies smoothly, narrowing his eyes at Steph.

Steph has a bad feeling about this.  She realizes suddenly that she’s been lured back into the building.  If Nicole was right, then SHIELD headquarters is the last place she wants to be right now.  She needs to get out.  She needs to get the drive.  She needs to find Nat.  She needs to figure out what exactly is happening.

“I’m sorry,” Steph says after a pause.  “Those were her last words.”

Before Pierce can say anything else, Steph turns, reaching for her shield as she goes.

“Excuse me,” she says, not sparing Pierce a look.

“Captain,” Pierce calls after her casually.  Steph turns to look at him.  He’s sitting on Nicole’s desk now, hands in his pockets.  There’s a look in his eyes that seems almost predatory.  “Somebody murdered my friend and I’m gonna find out why.”  The man’s voice is almost sing-song, mocking.  It makes a chill run up Steph’s spine.  She notices the way Pierce doesn’t name Fury as that “friend.”    “Anyone gets in my way, they’re gonna regret it…. _Anyone_.”

It’s a clear threat.  Steph feels herself go tense.  She needs to get out of this building _now_.

“Understood,” she says, staring Pierce in the eye.

Pierce gives her a wolfish smile.  Steph doesn’t wait any longer for Pierce to stall her.  She has to get out.  She turns and gets through the door before Pierce can say anything else.

Trying to stay calm, she walks briskly towards the elevator.  She gets in, directing the elevator to the first subfloor, where she can get to her motorcycle.  Just as the doors are sliding shut behind her, she hears them stop.  Brock Rumlow is talking to someone as he shoots his hands through the doors.  Steph doesn’t stop to look at him.  Grander and Sorrenson are with him.

“Cap,” Rumlow greets curtly.

Steph turns and greets him.  Rumlow, Grander and Sorrenson all stand to one side of the elevator.  Steph narrows her eyes suspiciously.  They’re expecting company.  Steph turns fully around to watch the hallway.

Rumlow continues talking quietly to his teammates as the doors close and the elevator begins to descend.  He turns to ask Steph a question, asking if she wants to look into some evidence collected on the roof.  Steph shakes her head, dropping her eyes and tells him no.  She sees the way Brock looks her up and down incredulously before responding, “Right.”

Steph watches the other three as they shift uncomfortably, still leaving room in the elevator.  Sorrenson’s hand is on his side arm and he refuses to look at Steph, turning instead to look out the glass sides of the elevator.

The car stops again.  Three men in business suits, holding briefcases, walk nonchalantly into the elevator, not even glancing at Steph.  But Steph doesn’t believe for a second that they aren’t STRIKE.  She doesn’t recognize them, but their suits don’t fit right.  Not to mention that they are massive, every one of them.  Definitely not desk jockeys.  They squeeze in, crowding Steph.  Just as the doors begin to close, two more STRIKE agents dressed in combat gear slip inside the elevator.

Brock tells Steph that she’s sorry about what happened to Fury, but won’t look Steph in the eye.  Steph is getting nervous, but she’s clearly not the only one.  One of the men in suits is beginning to sweat.  She listens closely and can hear the elevated heart rates of nearly everyone inside the car.  They’re anticipating a fight.

The car stops again.  It’s Rollins with two other heavies behind him.  Jack has never liked taking orders from Steph, solely because she’s a woman.  When he sets eyes on her, he looks at her with unhidden contempt before he and his companions squeeze inside the already overcrowded elevator.  The car has to be past capacity at this point.  Steph sighs.

There’s eleven in total, and they have her completely surrounded.

“Before we get started,” Steph announces calmly.  “Does anyone want to get out?”

The game is up now.  Jack takes no time before extending a stun stick from his hand and turning, swinging with his full force.  Steph dodges the hit, but there’s nowhere for her to really go.  She collides with bodies who immediately grab her.  Someone stops the elevator with the emergency button.  There’s arms all around her and someone has her in a headlock.  She feels her shield be pulled away and hears it being tossed somewhere else.  They rush her and the two men with briefcases suddenly toss them down, revealing the handles to be what Steph knows are magnetized steal alloy cuffs.  She doesn’t have time to react before one is snapping shut around her wrist.

The magnet is strong and it pulls her arm up towards the metal wall of the elevator.  Two arms shove her arm up towards the wall.  She kicks hard, knocking the knees out of one of the assailants, which throws him into the other.  Steph punches the man in the face before swinging her other elbow into the other man with a cuff.  As he falls, the cuff flies from his hands and connects with the metal wall. 

Steph flails, kicking hard at Sorrenson before he can get to her.  One of the heavies still has her in a choke hold.  Jack lunges at her with the stun stick again.  She knocks him away, swings at someone else before grabbing the arm of the man behind her and throwing him over her shoulder.  Before she can straighten though, Rumlow kicks her cuffed wrist hard, sending it flying to the wall, where the magnet engages.  She tries to pull herself free, but Rumlow is coming at her now with a stun stick of her own.  With her free hand, she blocks him a few times, but eventually, he lands a hit, right on her side.

The electricity courses through her body and she shouts in pain.  She gets a little dizzy, but it doesn’t knock her out.  She throws her elbow into Brock’s face and he goes down.  She lashes out at another oncoming attacker, sending him flying.  Another stun stick is coming at her.  She parries it, throwing the man’s momentum into another body.  Steph kicks the knees out of the two that remain standing before turning towards the wall.  She brings both her feet up against it, pushing as hard as she can to pull her arm away from the wall.  The magnet finally releases and Steph flips backwards.

When she lands, the remaining two come at her, but she takes them out easily, hitting one in the throat and throwing the other bodily against the wall.  Rumlow suddenly gets back to his feet, a stun stick in each hand now.

“Whoa, Cap,” Rumlow pants, dropping into a fighting stance.  Steph glares at him.  She can’t believe she ever thought that he might actually be her friend.  “I just want you to know, Cap, this isn’t personal.”

Rumlow doesn’t wait, swinging at Steph.  Steph grabs one of his wrists, but he makes contact with his other hand, jabbing the stick against her already burnt side.  She screams and spins out of his reach, but he repeats the same moves, hitting Steph again on her side.  But Rumlow leans in and Steph swings, hitting him hard in the side of his head.  When he bends to try to duck her other arm swinging, she bends and grabs him by his waist, throwing him hard against the ceiling.  His body crumples, unconscious.

“It kinda feels personal,” Steph pants.

She activates the magnetic holster on her arm, kicking her shield up towards it.  One of Toni’s helpful updates.  She uses her shield to break the cuff off of her right wrist before reaching to release the emergency stop on the elevator.

Stupid move.

There’s a whole tac team waiting for her, weapons ready.  She doesn’t wait, spinning quickly to sever the cables through the broken glass side of the elevator, sending the car into free fall.  The emergency breaks engage, stopping the car about seven floors up from the ground level.  The doors are halfway between one floor and another.  Steph pulls them open, only to find another tac team coming her way.  Great.

She shoves the doors shut again.  The agent outside is shouting at her that she has nowhere to go.  Too bad he doesn’t have Steph’s imagination.  The glass side of the elevator overlooks the awning of the foyer below.  The parking complex sits in conjunction.  Seven stories.  This is going to hurt.

Steph backs up as far as she is able in the small car before running and diving through the glass.  She curls herself into a ball behind her shield as she plummet to the ground, breaking through the awning below.  She tries to brace herself the best that she can, but slamming into the ground at that speed isn’t going to tickle.

Her breath is knocked out of her and she’s fairly certain that she’s broken some ribs.  It takes Steph longer than usual to roll over and shove herself to her feet.  She groans in pain, trying to catch her breath again.  Stumbling a bit at first, Steph breaks into a run towards the parking garage.

Luckily, her bike is near the front in the motorcycle parking area.  The emergency doors are beginning to slide shut as her bike roars to life.  She uses a utility ramp to jump the encroaching concrete doors.

Steph just can’t catch a break.  There are spike strips sliding upwards to block off the bridge and a Quinjet comes careening around the triskelion.  The jet comes to hover just above the road an in attempt to stop Steph, and its machine gun lowers.  Steph begins to zig zag to avoid the bullets, but she feels two connect with her left leg, another blowing out the front tire of her bike.  She reaches for her shield, throwing it hard at the jet’s rotary.  Effectively jammed, the jet veers hard to the right, nose dipping towards the concrete.  Steph brakes hard, using the momentum to throw herself towards the jet.

She lands on the windshield before jumping towards the right wing, pulling her shield from the blades as she goes.  When the shield comes free, the jet swings dangerously to the other side, throwing Steph towards the tail.  She swings downward hard, barely connecting her shield with the front of the wing, but it’s enough to keep her from being flung into the concrete.  Throwing her body weight, she flings herself onto the back of the jet and throws her shield to knock out the rear engines.  The jet goes into a tailspin and Steph dives off the back after her shield, turning neatly in midair before landing hard on the road.

The jet spins and crashes.  Steph doesn’t waste any time.  She puts her shield behind her and runs.  Leaping over the side of the bridge, she dives into the water. 

Steph has to get back to the hospital and retrieve the data drive.  Luckily, she’s a fast swimmer.  Two miles down the Potomac, she pulls herself out on a muddy bank.  Nearby, two picnickers jump, rushing forward to help only for their eyes to go wide. 

“You’re Captain America,” the girl breathes in awe.

Steph looks at the boy.

“Hey, I’ll trade you,” Steph pants.  It hurts to breath.  She’s definitely broken something.

“What?” the guy asks, dumbfounded. 

“You give me your sweat pants and hoodie and shoes, you can have this uniform.  That’s pretty cool, right?  Captain America uniform?”

Technically it’s a SHIELD uniform, and Steph would rather burn it.  The guy still seems confused, but the girl prods him.

“Babe, Captain America needs our help, give her your clothes!”

The guy blushes.  It’s not an ideal situation, for sure.  Steph turns away as the guy strips down.  His girlfriend hurries over to Steph, his clothes and shoes in her arms.  Steph strips quickly out of her wet uniform, handing it to the girl.  The clothes fit her loosely and the shoes are not only too big, but entirely non-functional.  But it’ll have to do.  Steph untangles the band from her ponytail.  Her hair is a matted, dirty mess, but that’s certainly nothing new.  She combs through it with her fingers before yanking the hood up and pulling the drawstrings tight.

“Thanks,” Steph says with a grateful nod.  “You never saw me here.”

She leaves the couple—the guy in his underwear holding up Steph’s wet uniform, and the girl staring after Steph in dazed awe—and moves through the park, staying off the paths.  Hood up, hunched over so nobody can see her face, she’s sure she looks like a creep.  But nobody says anything to her.  She catches a few sideway, suspicious looks, but most of the people in the park are more than happy to just go about their business.  It leaves Steph free to duck into a more heavily wooded part of the woods in order to stash her shield in a hallowed out tree.  She takes a moment to memorize the spot and can only hope that SHIELD doesn’t find it. 

Steph knows that she’s going to have to ditch these clothes as soon as possible.  She doesn’t exactly trust the couple to _not_ fucking tweet about Captain America crawling out of the river and asking for their clothes.  And as soon as that happens, SHIELD will be pulling them in for questioning and a description.

The hospital is a few blocks away.  Steph tries to stay calm as she walks into the hospital.  SHIELD shouldn’t be looking for her there.  Why would they be?  Hood up, she hurries through the halls, trying not to make eye contact.  She finally gets to the vending machine that she knows she stashed the drive in.  Her eyes search for the bubblegum in the top right corner.

Spot A9 is empty.

 

***

 

Nat really needs to help Steph work on her predictability.  When Nat gets word that Captain America is a fugitive, she knows exactly where Steph is going to go.  Nat is waiting for her when she gets there, chewing her tenth piece of bubblegum today.  She does have three packs of the stuff.

Steph turns, furious, and shoves Nat backwards until they are in one of the hospital rooms.

“Where is it?!” Steph demands, eyes lit with anger.

“Safe,” Nat says defensively.

“Do better!”

Steph is clearly furious.  She shoves down her hood to reveal damp, tangled hair.  Nat can smell the river water on her.  Steph’s eyes dance back and forth between Nat’s, frantic.

“Where did you get it?” Nat asks carefully, watching Steph’s eyes.

“Why would I tell you?”  Steph is suspicious of Nat, that much is clear.  Things must be _really_ bad.

“Fury gave it to you,” Nat tells Steph, still watching her blue eyes for a tell.  “Why?”

Steph is only taken aback for a moment.

“What’s on it?” she demands.

“I don’t know,” Nat replies.

Steph’s fist tightens in Nat’s shirt and she shakes her.

“Stop _lying!_ ” Steph exclaims, struggling to keep her voice quiet.

“I only _act_ like I know everything, Rogers,” Nat defends.  And it’s true.  Mostly.

Steph turns to look out the door and make sure nobody has seen them.

“You knew Fury hired the pirates, didn’t you?” Steph accuses.

“Well it makes sense.  The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in.  So do you.”  

Nat wonders if Steph notices her avoiding the question.

“I’m not gonna ask you again!”

Apparently she did.

Nat stares hard at Steph for a beat.

“I know who killed Fury,” Nat offers carefully.

Confusion flits through Steph’s eyes.  That wasn’t the answer Steph was expecting.  Nat can tell that it only makes Steph _more_ suspicious of her.  She stares hard at Nat as if trying to figure out if she’s lying.  But Nat is a trained liar, and the best lies are mostly true.  Steph doesn’t say a word, so Nat takes a deep breath and continues.

“Most of the intelligence agency doesn’t believe she exists.  The ones that do call her the Winter Soldier.”  Steph shows no recognition of the name, so Nat continues.  “She’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

“So it’s a ghost story,” Steph says flatly, disbelief clear on her face.

Nat cocks her head.

“Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran.  Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa.  We lost control, went straight over a cliff.  I pulled us out.  But the Winter Soldier was there.  I was covering my engineer, so she shot him.  Straight through me.” 

Nat pulls up her top to show Steph the scar above her hipbone.  She doesn’t tell Steph that the Winter Soldier had let her live, that she had looked at Nat with some sort of recognition.  She doesn’t tell Steph that the Winter Soldier had trained her, the exact same age thirty years prior, in the Red Room.  She doesn’t tell Steph that three months ago, Nat had gone rouge because she needed confirmation that the Winter Solider was who Fury had thought that she was.  Nat still has no idea what to make of that information, which is probably a first for her.  Natalia Romanovia _always_ knows exactly what is going on.

“Soviet slug.  No rifling.  Bye-bye, bikinis.”

“Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now,” Steph scoffs.  Of course, Steph can’t see the much nastier exit wound scar on Nat’s back. 

“Going after her is a dead end.  I know.  I’ve tried.”  It’s better if you don’t know, Nat doesn’t add.  But that ship has sailed.  Steph is going to go after her and its better if Nat is there to make sure that Captain America doesn’t get herself killed by her turncoat ex-lover.  She holds up the data piece.  “Like you said…ghost story.”

Steph stares hard at Nat, taking the data piece from her hand. 

“Well let’s find out what the ghost wants.”

 

***

 

When Steph comes to, her entire body aches.  She’s in total darkness and it takes her several seconds to remember where she is. 

Zola.  Hydra.  An airstrike launched by SHIELD.

For a long moment, emotion threatens to consume Steph.  Fear, anger, confusion.  But she swallows it all down.  Instead, she tries to move.  She’s contorted into a semi-upright position, her forearms supporting the shield over her head.  Beneath her, Nat isn’t moving but Steph can hear her heart still beating.  Steph shifts.  Her already aching body, ribs still broken from her jump the day before, screams in protest.  But she shimmies around in the small space until she can get her feet underneath her.  Bracing against her shield, she pushes hard, standing and shoving the heavy chunks of debris away from her, making sure none of the pieces fall onto Nat.

It takes her a few tries, but finally Steph breaks free.  She can see light from a smoldering fire.  She throws another slab of broken concrete aside, coughing when she breathes in a lungful of thick dust.  Above her, she can see the night sky.  Steph looks around and realizes that the building that they had been under is now just a crater. 

Steph turns, crouching down to pick up Nat.  The redhead groans, but doesn’t wake.  Steph listens carefully for a moment, realizing suddenly that she can hear low flying Quinjets coming from the South.  She comes around the remains of a wall to see three jets, searchlights on, moving slowly across the burnt out remains.  Steph turns and runs the best that she can in the clunky goddam shoes she hadn’t replaced when she should have, throwing Nat over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry.  She scrambles through the wreckage and darts towards the wood line.

Luckily, they had been smart enough to park their “borrowed” truck about a mile from the camp.  It still waits for Steph there, undamaged.  Steph deposits Nat in the passenger seat before hotwiring the vehicle again to get it to start. 

Once she’s back on the highway, Steph has no idea what to do now.

Finally, the emotion she’s been biting back consumes her.

Hydra has been using this mysterious Winter Soldier to drive history for seventy years.  How is that possible?  The Winter Soldier can’t just be one person, they’d be at least ninety years old by now.  But Steph had seen her, on the roof.  Most of her face had been covered, but there was no way she was over forty.  Steph even doubts that she was past thirty.  The Winter Soldier was fast and strong.  As fast and as strong as Steph.  Is she perhaps a Project Rebirth subject gone rogue?  That could possibly explain the aging.  And if Hydra has been infiltrating SHIELD since the forties, then they could have easily gotten ahold of a sample of Steph’s blood to replicate the serum.

The only thing that Steph knows for sure is that whatever they do next, the Winter Soldier will certainly be there, and Steph is going to have to kill her.

Beside Steph, Nat stirs.  She groans, pressing a palm to her head before blinking hard and peering over at Steph.

“What happened?” Nat slurs.

“SHIELD carried out a missile strike on us,” Steph replies, eyes still straight ahead.  “But we’re in the truck now, I got us out.”

“Where are we going?” Nat asks, sitting up a bit and looking out the windshield. 

Steph pauses.  She hadn’t really thought of a destination.  She had just been driving “away.”  The general direction was South, back towards DC.

“I don’t know,” Steph admits.  “Do you have any contacts?”

Nat shakes her head.

“Nobody that we can trust.  If SHIELD’s been infiltrated…”

“Barton?” Steph suggests.

“She’s in Michigan,” Nat replies, sounding faraway for a moment.  Steph assumes that it’s a lie, but she doesn’t press.  “What’s your plan?”

“We need to figure out what Project Insight is, what Zola’s algorithm does.”

Nat is quiet for a long moment.

“Do you think Toni knows?” Nat asks quietly, not looking up from where she is staring at her hands.

“About the algorithm?  Maybe.  But I don’t think we have time to—”

“No, not that…”

Steph almost asks Nat what she means before she remembers what Zola had said, what he had showed them.  It hadn’t been explicit, and Steph had been concentrated on everything else he was saying, but thinking back, she realizes now what Nat means.

Toni’s parents hadn’t died in an accident.  They had been assassinated by Hydra.

“I don’t know,” Steph finally replies.  “We have other things to worry about right now.”

Nat probably has a concussion.  She rubs her temples, groaning in pain.  Steph tells her to get some rest, they have a few hours of driving before they’ll be in DC.  Nat relents, moving her seat back and turning over.  It gives Steph some time to decide on where the hell they are going to go.

They arrive in DC as the sun is starting to rise.  Steph is sore and exhausted.  She’s certain that she has a few more broken ribs, but she ignores them for now.  Instead, she drives in a slow circle around the Mall until she catches a glimpse of the person that she is looking for. 

Steph follows Sam back to her duplex, trying to keep her distance.  She parks the car a few streets over.  When she wakes up Nat, she asks where they are.

“The only person I know who isn’t associated with SHIELD,” Steph replies.  “Sam.”

“Your VA friend?” 

Steph knows that they look a mess.  Dirty, faces smudged with ash, clothes torn and soiled.  They slip around to the back door, not wanting to chance knocking on the front and being seen.  Sam comes to the door, still sweaty and dressed in her running clothes.  Her eyes go wide when she sees Steph and Nat leaned against each other.  But before Sam slides open the door, her face settles into something more of a smirk.

“Hey, girl,” she says, uncertain, looking Steph and Nat up and down.

“I’m sorry about this,” Steph replies.  “We need a place to lay low.”

“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Nat adds.

Sam looks between them for a moment, speculative. 

“Not everyone,” Sam finally says, stepping back to allow them inside.

“You look like you need a shower, or three,” Sam calls to them once they’re inside, door locked behind them. 

“Wouldn’t mind one,” Steph replies. 

Sam starts to lead them down a hallway.

“I was wondering who the hell was following me,” Sam calls over her shoulder, almost causally.  When she gets to the door, Sam pulls a pistol out of her waistband.  “Was kinda worried I was gonna need this.  I saw the news.”

Great.  Steph’s made the news.  No, correction: Captain America is a fugitive made the news.

“Yeah…” Steph says slowly, but Sam just holds up a hand.

“You don’t have to explain,” Sam says and Steph gives her a grateful smile.

Sam shows them the guest room, with an adjoining bathroom.  Steph lets Nat shower first as Sam takes Steph to her closet to pick out some clothes to borrow.  Sam doesn’t ask many questions, which surprises Steph, but she’s grateful for.  She’s certainly not in the mood to be answering any right now, especially when Steph has so many questions of her own.  When Steph gets back to the guest room, she peels her dirty shirt off to look at her torso in the floor length mirror on the closet door. 

Steph’s side is several shades of purple and a sickening green.  Definitely some broken ribs.  Steph presses gently on the spot, hissing in pain as she feels for the fractures.  Four ribs in total.  Her other side is still healing, nasty blisters and welts, burns from the stun stick that Rumlow had hit her with.  She’s also got a bruise blossoming over her collarbone that she can only guess is from when the building fell on her.

The warm water of the shower is a welcome comfort, even if it is short lived.  Steph leans against the tiled walls, just letting the hot water run down her aching body as the bathroom fills with steam.  The temperature makes her burns throb, but she ignores them.  Instead, she takes a washcloth and begins to scrub at any open wounds, trying to clean the dirt and dust out of the congealed blood.  It hurts and is probably unnecessary, she can’t exactly get an infection with the serum, but cleaning them should make them heal faster, so Steph does it anyway. 

Steph finishes the shower by washing dirt, debris, and blood out of her hair.  Her ponytail holder is knotted around strands of hair, so she ends up having to break it to get it undone.  It takes her a while and nearly breaks the borrowed comb from Sam, but she finally gets all of the knots out of her blonde locks.

Steph dresses in a pair of jeans that are about a size too large and a pristine white tank top.  She’s grateful to find an unopened toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet, and she brushes her teeth in the first time in two days.  When she comes back out into the bedroom, Nat is sat crosslegged on the bed, drying her hair with a faraway look in her eyes.

“You okay?” Steph asks.

Nat’s eye flick up to her for a moment, but don’t seem to focus.

“Yeah,” Nat mumbles.

Steph walks further into the room, coming to sit in the desk chair beside the bed.  Nat’s green eyes meet hers for a moment before settling on something just over Steph’s shoulder.  Steph’s never seen this look in Nat’s eyes before—a look of confusion or disbelief.  No, that’s not right.  Nat looks entirely _lost_.  Steph’s never seen Nat show anything but total confidence in herself and the situation.

“What’s going on?” Steph prods gently.

Nat stops drying her hair, that far-away look never leaving her eyes.

“When I first joined SHIELD, I thought I was going straight,” Nat says, voice monotone.  Her eyes move around the room for a moment but don’t seem to focus on anything.  “But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra.”  She sighs and drops her gaze to her hands, shrugging her shoulders pathetically.  “I thought I knew whose lies I was telling,” Nat admits, sounding a bit broken.  She shakes her head.  “But…I guess I can’t tell the difference anymore.”

Nat glances up and gives Steph a sardonic smile. 

“There’s a chance you might be in a wrong business,” Steph replies.

Nat laughs slightly, a grin of disbelief on her lips—not able to believe that Steph is joking at a moment like now, that’s usually Clara or Toni’s gig.  Nat finally looks Steph dead in the eye.  Steph smiles back but Nat’s face goes serious again.

“I owe you,” Nat whispers.

Steph shakes her head.  “It’s okay.”

“If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life—now be honest with me,” Nat tucks her chin and levels Steph was a serious look, “would you trust me to do it?”

“I would now,” Steph replies immediately.  And it’s the truth.  “And I’m always honest,” Steph adds with a smile.

Nat scoffs.

“You seem pretty chipper for someone who just found out they died for nothing,” Nat says with a small grin.

Steph sighs, leaning back in her chair.  “Well, guess I just like to know who I’m fighting.”

At that moment, Sam comes through the door.

“I made breakfast,” Sam announces.  “If you guys…eat that sort of thing.”

Steph laughs.

“I hope you made a lot,” Nat replies, getting up from the bed, that air of total confidence settling onto her frame like a well-worn sweater.  “Because Steph has about four stomachs.”

Steph rolls her eyes, but gets to her feet to follow—she _is_ pretty hungry.  She’s lucky because Sam did make a lot.  Plates of bacon, sausage, eggs, and pancakes crowd the small table in Sam’s kitchen.  Sam waves her hand weakly at the array, commenting that she wasn’t sure what they liked.  Impatient but polite as always, Steph waits for Nat to sit down and get a plate first before Steph launches in.  She’s actually _famished_ , the smell of food suddenly making her realize that.  From where she stands in the kitchen, leaned against the fridge, Sam watches Steph with a moderate amount of surprised fascination as Steph wolfs down three plates in about ten minutes.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Sam comments at one point.

“She hasn’t eaten in a few days,” Nat replies for Steph with a smile.  “And this one eats _a lot_.”

As Nat and Steph finish their breakfast, Sam disappears inside her house for a moment.  When she comes back, she’s got a folder in her hand.  Steph watches as she slides the folder onto the top of the fridge before turning back and looking at the pair polishing off the food at her breakfast table.

“So, are you two going to tell me what happened or is that classified?” Sam asks cautiously.

Nat and Steph cast sidelong looks at each other.  Steph decides to bite her tongue on this one.  Nat is better at deciding what constitutes “need to know,” so Steph lets her give Sam a brief rundown of what they’ve faced in the past day and a half.  Nat gets to her feet, pacing as she recounts their story.  Most of it is stuff that was probably on the news—major car chase, shots fired in DC, SHIELD labeling Captain America as a fugitive, an explosion at a closed Army base in New Jersey.  Sam actually offers some things back to them, filling them in on what the general public thinks it going on.  DC has been declared “in a state of emergency.”  National Guard units have been deployed.  Possible terrorist threats, the news is saying.  Civilians are scared. 

When Nat finishes, she gives Steph a look as if offering the chance to add anything.  Steph just shakes her head, even though the one glaring omission is the Winter Soldier. 

“What’s next?” Sam asks.

“Well, the question is who at SHIELD can launch a domestic missile strike?” Nat says.

“Pierce,” Steph replies immediately.

“Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world,” Nat points out, pushing off of the island she had been leaning on.

“He’s not working alone.  Zola’s algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.”

Nat looks at Steph, realization crossing her face.

“So was Jasper Sitwell.”

Steph glances up at Nat.  She remembers questioning what the hell Sitwell was doing on the vessel in the first place two days ago.  Steph sighs heavily, not letting a vindicated smile tug on her lips.

“So the real question is how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight.”

There’s a clatter in the kitchen.  Sam is walking around the kitchen island, grabbing the folder from the top of the fridge.

“The answer is: you don’t,” Sam replies, tossing the folder down in front of Steph.

“What’s this?” Steph asks, sitting up.

There’s a large photo on top of the folder.  In the center is Sam and another woman walking through a desert landscape—military vehicles in the middle ground, mountains rising up in the background—dressed in full jump gear.

“Call it a resume,” Sam replies, stepping back and squaring her shoulders.

Steph gets to her feet as Nat reaches for the photo.  She looks at it critically for a moment.

“Is this Bakhmala?” Nat asks.  Of course she recognizes the picture immediately.  Steph wonders if there is anything the Black Widow doesn’t know.  “The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you?”

Steph and Nat both look up at Sam, but Sam doesn’t move, just watches them with barely contained nervousness.

“You didn’t say she was Pararescue,” Nat accuses.

Steph takes the picture from Nat’s hands and looks at it again.  The woman beside Sam in the picture has short, sandy hair and a sunburnt face brushed with freckles. 

“Is this Riley?” Steph asks carefully.

“Yeah,” Sam replies, voice soft.

“I hear they couldn’t bring in the choppers because of the RPG’s,” Nat comments.  “What’d you use?  Stealth chute?”

“No,” Sam says, pushing off the island.  She picks up the folder and hands it to Steph.  “These.”

Steph flips the folder open as Nat peers over the shoulder.  There are mockups of some kind of jetpack inside.  Steph flips the page to see that two massive wings extend from the pack.  The next page is reports on test flights, followed by pictures of an individual wearing the pack, flying like a bird through the sky.  Steph looks up at Sam skeptically.     

“I thought you said you were a pilot,” Steph accuses.

“I never said pilot,” Sam laughs, shaking her head.

Steph pauses, looking back down at the folder in her hand.  She closes it and finds the front emblazoned with the words “EXO-7 FALCON CLASSIFIED.”  She doesn’t ask how on Earth Sam got her hands on this file. 

Steph shakes her head, realizing what Sam is saying. 

“I can’t ask you to do this, Sam.  You got out for a good reason.”

“Dude, Captain America needs my help,” Sam points out, voice filled with a bit of awe at the prospect.  “No better reason to get back in.”

Steph sighs again, nodding before glancing over at Nat who just shrugs one shoulder.

“Where can we get our hands on one of these things?” Steph asks Sam.

“The last on is at Fort Meade.  Behind three guarded gates and a 12 inch steel wall.”

Sam makes that sound difficult.  Steph is hit with the realization, once again, of what her “normal” is compared to everyone else on the planet.  Steph looks over at Nat who just shrugs again.  Steph tosses the folder back onto the table.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”


	19. Winter Soldier: Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw: mentions of rape, torture, imprisonment, and psychological abuse.

Steph’s redheaded friend, Natasha, is so quick and efficient, it’s actually kinda scary.  The three of them had taken Sam’s car the twenty five miles Northeast to Fort Meade.  Natasha had asked them to stop at a dollar store near Tipton Airport and when she had come out four and a half minutes later, her hair was a dull brown, pulled into a messy bun, and she had put on an obscene amount of makeup that had actually made her face seem a different shape.  It reminded Sam of a drag queen makeup tutorial she had seen on the internet.  Sam had looked over at Steph, but Steph hadn’t even given Natasha a second glance when the woman climbed into the front seat. 

Armed with only a black combat bag that she had pulled out of the backseat of the truck that they had driven into town in, Natasha disappeared along the fence-line that surrounded Fort Meade.  She had disappeared from sight, and Sam had asked Steph how long they were supposed to wait.

“Shouldn’t take her long,” Steph had replied easily.

Sam had struggled to keep disbelief off of her face.  These two were fucking _Amazons_ for Christ’s sake, Sam reminded herself, they had fought off a fucking alien invasion.  But even with that in mind, Sam still couldn’t believe it when not even twenty minutes later, Natasha came bounding over the twelve foot high fence with speed and grace Sam didn’t think possible, the Falcon pack secured to the combat bag.  Sam had bitten her tongue because the one thing she had wanted to ask was, “ _how?!_ ”

A plan came together almost immediately after.  It took them an hour to get back into DC with the many closed roads and heightened security.  Natasha and Steph had obviously worked together before, because their dialogue was quick and precise, a back and forth where neither tried to take over the conversation.  Sam had kept her mouth shut, only offering advice or suggestions when asked, which wasn’t often.  Natasha somehow knew exactly where this Sitwell character was going to be and who he was going to be with.  Another breaking development that Sam had to restrain herself from commenting on was the fact that Natasha apparently had a disassembled sniper rifle in her combat bag.  And this fucking duo was brazen enough to aim a sniper rifle at a military officer in the middle of the United States Capitol during a terror threat lockdown. 

Sam had spent six years of her military career flying around with two metal wings on her back, and this plan still sounded abso-fucking-lutely insane. 

But it was time to nut up.  Sam had been woven into their batshit plan.  Sam had _volunteered_ to be woven into their batshit plan.  She had asked some Amazons to steal military technology from an Army base so that they could kidnap Sitwell in the middle of the day.  So she couldn’t very well balk out now. 

Before Captain America hotwired a goddam panel van—something Sam hadn’t ever thought she would see—Natasha had handed Sam a Stark Phone with some clear upgrades that Sam’s own iPhone could barely compete with.  She had typed in a phone number and told Sam to smash the thing as soon as she had finished the call.

“How will I know that Sitwell will pick up?” Sam had asked.

“He’ll pick up.”

And Natasha had left it at that.

So here Sam was, sitting on the patio of a DC restaurant in late summer, about to assist some Amazons—or maybe terrorists, if you believed the news report playing loudly inside the restaurant—kidnap some guy who was in a secret organization that had supposedly been taken down in World War II.

She wonders briefly if Steph or Natasha ever think about how fucking wild their lives are.

Two guys in suits, surrounded by secret service agents in suits, come wandering out of the hotel connected to the restaurant  Two of the men pause, talk for a bit, and then hug awkwardly before the one with way too much plastic surgery wanders away towards a limo.

“Bald guy,” Natasha says through Sam’s earpiece from her spot on the building across the street.

“What about the Secret Service?” Sam asks nervously, looking around for people who might think she’s crazy for talking to herself.

“They’re Secret Service, not SHIELD or Hydra.  Sitwell won’t trust them to listen to the phone call.”

Sam pushes the call button and watches as Sitwell reaches into his jacket to pull out his phone.  Sure enough, he looks down at the phone before turning to tell his guards to leave.

“Yes, sir,” Sitwell answers.

“Agent Sitwell, how was lunch?” Sam asks casually.  “I hear the crab cakes here are delicious.”

“Who is this?” Sitwell demands.

“The good-looking lady in the sunglasses, your 10 o’clock.”

Sitwell glances around.

“Your _other_ 10 o’clock.”

Sitwell turns around, confusion on his face.

“There you go,” Sam praises, holding up a hand to wave.

“What do you want?”

“You’re gonna go around the corner to your right.  There’s a grey van, two spaces down.  You and I are gonna take a ride.”

“And why would I do that?” Sitwell demands, a cocky tone bleeding into his voice now that he can see Sam.

“Because that tie looks _really_ expensive.”  Sam watches the ACOG laser appear on Sitwell’s chest.  “And I’d hate to mess it up.”

Sitwell looks down at his chest, panic twisting his expression.  He looks up and around, trying to find the nest, but the laser is already gone and the park provides plenty of cover.  Sam sees him swallow.

“Your buddies aren’t invited to the party,” Sam adds. 

“Fine,” Sitwell replies, sounding breathless.  “I’m going.”

He hangs up and starts down the steps.  Sam gets to her feet, crushing the phone under foot a few times before taking off after Sitwell and following at a distance as Sitwell walks around the corner.  As he gets close, the door to the van opens.  Sitwell pauses nervously, looking inside. 

“He’s called for backup,” Nat reports.  “We don’t have a lot of time, Steph now!”

Steph jumps out of the car, grabbing Sitwell just as he turns to run.  She throws him inside the back of the van, throwing the door shut and running around to the driver’s side.  Sam is running now.  People have noticed, there’s shouting and someone bolts towards the van as if he plans to be a hero.  Sam runs full force into him, shoving him to the ground before throwing the passenger side door open and tumbling in.  Steph peels out of the spot as Sitwell begins to pound on the partition between the front and back of the van.

“Get rid of his phone,” Steph directs, taking a sharp right turn that throws Sam into the door.

Sam struggles to regain her balance before unlocking the partition.  She throws herself through before Sitwell can clamber into the front.  Sam tackles the small man to the floor of the van, pulling the pistol from her waistband.

“Give me the phone!”

“You won’t get away with this!  SHIELD knows where I am!” Sitwell replies, voice pitch rising higher.

“Give me the fucking phone!” Sam shouts, clicking the safety off on her pistol as she levels it at the man’s head.

It’s a good thing he’s clearly not combat trained.  The man hands over his phone.  Sam tosses it to Steph in the front seat who throws it out the window.  They’ve circled the block now and are heading towards the parking garage on Nebraska.  Sam keeps the man pinned until Steph calls for her.  She climbs back into the front seat, kicking Sitwell hard for good measure, as Steph brings the van to a halt.

Pushing open the door, Sam tumbles out of the van and it’s moving again before she can even finish shutting the door.

As she’s left alone, the van squealing around the tight turn of the garage, Sam realizes how high her heart rate is.  She takes a moment, bending over to put her hands on her knees and catch her breath.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” she says under her breath before straightening and heading towards her car.

A few minutes later, she’s perched on the edge of the seventh floor of the complex, the Falcon suit fitting her like a glove.  She prays operating it will be like riding a bicycle because, she realizes suddenly, Sam hasn’t actually flown in this thing in two years.  She doesn’t have very long to think about it before she hears what can only be Sitwell’s screaming from above.

Sam jumps, the wings extend and she loops upward with the pack, taking a tight turn and getting her eyes on the flailing, falling body of Jasper Sitwell.  She prays that he doesn’t have a heart attack before she can catch him.  Hell, she prays _she_ doesn’t have a heart attack before she can catch him.

Sam catches Sitwell by his collar.  His eyes are screwed shut and she’s pretty sure he doesn’t even notice when her thrusters engage and they shoot upwards.  As she drops him back on the roof, she realizes that this guy needs to talk because they really do not have a lot of time.  They kidnapped him in broad daylight, after all.  Plus he called for backup.  Plus Sam just caught him wearing bird wings in a metropolitan area surrounded on all sides by office buildings.

Sam swings around and lands on the roof by the door to block Sitwell’s escape.  Natasha and Steph stride towards him together.  Whimpering, Sitwell throws up his hand.

“Don’t!” he cries.  “Zola’s algorithm is a program!”  Sam and Natasha stop in front of him.  Sitwell pants.  “For choosing,” he adds, not looking up, “Insight’s targets.”

“What targets?” Steph demands immediately. 

“You!” Sitwell shouts, throwing his hand to indicate Steph.  “A TV anchor in Cairo, the Under Secretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City, Jennifer Banner, Sarah Strange, anyone who’s a threat!  To Hydra.  Now.  Or in the future.”

Sam concentrates on keeping her face blank.

“In the future?” Steph asks.  “How could it know?”

Sitwell just laughs.  Sam pushes her goggles up and takes a few steps forward.

“How could it not?!” Sitwell exclaims, looking up at Steph.  He climbs to his feet, eyes locked on Steph’s.  “The 21st century is a digital book.  Zola taught Hydra how to read it.”  Sitwell’s voice has taken on a dangerous, almost threatening tone.

Natasha and Steph just stare at Sitwell, confusion a line between their identical brows.  Sitwell looks between them, sputtering.

“Your bank records!” he cries.  “Medical histories, voting patterns, emails, phone calls, your _damn SAT scores!_   Zola’s algorithm evaluates people’s past to predict their future.”

“And what then?” Steph asks, sounding breathless for the first time today.  At least the gravity of the situation is hitting her.  Sam was starting to suspect both of them were made of stone.

Sitwell’s breathing slows and he looks down, shrinking.

“Oh my God.  Pierce is gonna kill me,” Sitwell mutters.

“ _What then?!”_ Steph repeats more forcefully, taking a step forward.  Sam reaches out and shoves Sitwell towards Steph.

“Then the Insight helicarriers scratch people off the list,” Sitwell finishes darkly.  “A few million at a time.”

 

***

 

Three targets.  Sitwell, Jasper L.  Romanovia, Natalia A.  Rogers, Stephanie G.  Last known location: Nebraska Street Parking Complex.  Possible fourth party involved.  Current status: Heading west in a dark blue Chevrolet compact car, late number JY9 63R.  Eliminate with extreme prejudice. 

The Winter Soldier finishes chambering rounds, settling her weapons back into their holsters.  The STRIKE team leader twists in his seat. 

“We’ve got visual, straight ahead.”

The Winter Soldier looks out the windshield.  Her goggles scan the vehicles ahead of the Jeep until they find the license plate.  The targeting system locks in and a layout appears in the upper right corner of the display, tracking the vehicle.  The Soldier nods curtly as the window beside her begins to roll down.

It’s a tight fit in all of her gear, but the Soldier shimmies out the window, pulling herself onto the roof of the Jeep in one smooth movement with her left hand.  Her metal fingers dig into the top of the car as she gains her balance.  The Jeep begins to speed up, so the Soldier crouches low, eyes on the blue car ahead of her.  The Jeep gets almost bumper to bumper with the car and the Soldier propels herself forward, landing cat-like on the top of the other car. 

Sitwell, Jasper L is in the left side back seat, the Soldier can hear him speaking loudly.  Crouching low, she swings a fist through the window and grabs blindly for Sitwell, Jasper L.  Luckily, he’s not strapped in, and it takes little effort to grab him by the collar and yank him out through the broken window.  Without a second thought, the Soldier flings Sitwell, Jasper L across two lanes and into oncoming traffic.

One target confirmed eliminated.

The Soldier twists her body weight, pushing off with her left foot from the broken window, and comes up onto the top of the car on one knee, pulling the pistol from her boot as she goes.  Aiming down at the right side rear seat, she fires twice.  Moving fluidly, she takes an unsteady aim at the right side passenger seat, and then the driver using both hands.  Big mistake. 

The car’s gears scream as the vehicle is thrown into park, and the Soldier goes flying over the front of the car.  She’s pitched forward, flipping in midair as the car screeches to a stop.  Rolling as she hits the ground, the Soldier gets her feet under her, throwing her left hand down and digging her fingertips into the asphalt.  Sparks fly from the metal and the friction quickly makes her hand go hot.  She finally comes to a stop.

There are horns blaring at her, cars swerving around the stopped blue Chevrolet in front of her, but she doesn’t care.  Background noise.  The fine metal plates in her hand whir as she yanks herself free from where her fingers have dug into the concrete.  Her right hand flexes in anger, balling into a fist as she kicks her right leg out and comes to her feet.  The display on her goggles zoom into the windshield of the car.  Three faces stare back at her.  The display identifies two of them as the remaining two targets.  Romanovia, Natalia A and Rogers, Stephanie G.  All three of the Soldier’s shots had missed.

Inside the car, Romanovia, Natalia A takes aim at the Soldier with a pistol.  But a moment later, the STRIKE Jeep is barreling into the back of the Chevrolet.  The Jeep pushes the car forward, gaining speed as the two vehicles move towards the Soldier.  She flips over the hood of the Chevrolet, grabbing the top edge of the windshield as she does.  The force throws her body hard onto the roof of the car.  She hears windows shatter and the driver pressing hard on the brake while yanking the steering wheel back and forth in an attempt to untangle themselves from the Jeep.  The Soldier gets her knees under her, switching hands to hold herself steady with her right as she swings her left upwards and brings it down through the windshield.  Her fingers find the steering wheel and she yanks it clean free from the driving column, tossing it behind her with as much carelessness as she had tossed Sitwell, Jasper L.

The Soldier uses the upward momentum to get to her feet just in time, because someone in the passenger seat is firing up at her.  She takes two large steps and jumps onto the hood of the Jeep.  Unable to steer, the car ahead of them swerves dangerously back and forth until the Jeep knocks into its bumper again, sending it careening towards the divider.  The left front bumper hits the concrete divider hard and the already naked left tire collapses, tipping the car onto its right side.  The left side exposed, the Jeep rams into the blue car once again, sending it into a roll.

The Chevrolet flips up and into the air, but the Soldier watches as the passenger side door is kicked out, three bodies on top of it like a sled.  The door hits the highway hard and slides across the concrete.  The assailant with Romanovia, Natalia A and Rogers, Stephanie G is knocked off the door by the force and she tucks her body into the kind of roll that can only mean that she’s done this sort of thing before. 

The two targets stagger to their feet as the Jeep comes to a halt in front of them.  The Soldier climbs off the hood and walks calmly around the side.  One of the STRIKE team hands her a Milkor.  She brings the sites to her eye and fires. 

Rogers, Stephanie G shoves Romanovia, Natalia A out of the way before throwing a shield up in front of her.  The grenade hits the shield and the explosion throws the target clear off of the overpass.  The Soldier hears horns blaring and a loud crash below.  The STRIKE team takes up tactical positions behind the Soldier.  The other target has taken cover behind what remains of the Chevrolet.  The STRIKE team begins to fire, but the Soldier walks calmly forward.  The third assailant darts behind another vehicle as Romanovia, Natalia A begins to return fire.  Almost lazily, the Soldier brings the grenade launcher up to her eyes and fires again. 

The target dives over the divider to avoid the blast and darts quickly across the other lanes of oncoming traffic.  The Soldier is beginning to get flustered, she has never missed this many times before.  As the target ducks behind another car, the Soldier fires again. 

The Soldier can’t see from the explosion if she’s take out the target.  She drops her weapon and turns.  A STRIKE soldier holds out his M4 and the Soldier trades him weapons.  She rounds onto the other side of the overpass and brings the ACOG to her face, scanning the street below for the targets.

She sees the shield in the middle of the street, blackened by the explosion but still somehow intact.  She sees an overturned bus and a crashed truck.  She searches for Rogers, Stephanie G.  Just as she sees movement inside the bus and tightens her grip on her weapon, two shots fire from directly below her.

The Soldier throws herself down behind the side of the overpass, but she’s too late.  A bullet has grazed her goggles.  The display crackles and switches to night vision, which is immediately blinding.  The Soldier reaches up and grabs the goggles, tossing them away from her.

Now she’s angry.

Getting to her feet, eyes still adjusting from the sudden over exposure, she aims her M4 downward and fires a spray of bullets.  Stupid.  Romanovia, Natalia A is now behind the crashed truck and she fires at the Soldier again.  A foreign feeling of frustration makes the Soldier let out an angry roar as she ducks for cover once again.  As soon as she hears the end of the clips, the Soldier gets to her feet and doesn’t even bothering using the sites as she fires at the truck.  She sees Romanovia, Natalia A darting between cars as she sprints away from the overpass. 

The Soldier growls, pulling her finger off the trigger of her M4.  Romanovia, Natalia A is clearly highly trained, much more so than any other target the Soldier has come up against before.  Fury is starting to burn low in the Soldier’s stomach.  At that moment, she sees Romanovia, Natalia A glance over her shoulder with the smallest of smirks.

Huffing, the Soldier turns to address the STRIKE team.

“I have the redhead,” the Soldier growls in Russian.  “Find the other one.”

Without waiting for confirmation, the Soldier swings herself over the edge of the overpass.  She lands on a car below and strides purposefully down the hood and onto the street.  Ear piqued, the Soldier stalks along the street, the remaining civilians scattering at the sight of her.  She moves slowly, listening for Romanovia, Natalia A.  Behind her, she hears the STRIKE team begin to assault the turned over bus with a rotary cannon. 

A police cruiser, sirens screaming comes careening around the corner.  The Soldier loads her M203 with a grenade from her belt and fires at the passenger side window of the cruiser.  A fire ball sends the car crashing into another parked on the street.  The Soldier pulls another grenade from her belt and loads the M203 again.  The screams of civilians fades out as she listens for her target.

“Taking fire from above and below expressway,” the Soldier hears from her right.  She freezes and listens more closely.  “Civilians threatened, I repeat, civilians threatened.”

The Soldier crouches and pulls a Hammer versatile round from her pocket, rolling it gently beneath the car in front of her and across to the car from behind which Romanovia, Natalia A’s voice is coming.

“I make an LZ, 2300 block of Virginia Avenue,” the Soldier hears the target continues as she gets to her feet.  The round explodes.

The Soldier hears footsteps on the car behind her and she turns just in time to see the target launching herself over the hood.  Her boot knocks the M4 out of the Soldier’s hands and she swings herself upwards and onto the Soldier’s shoulders.  The Soldier hisses.  A trap.  A fucking _trap_.  She let herself be lured into a trap, by what can only be a Black Widow no less.  There’s no mistaking this fighting style.

The Soldier hears the zipping of a cord, and she gets her hand up to her throat just in time.  The Black Widow throws her weigh backwards and it causes the Soldier to lose her balance.  She stumbles backwards until she collides with the car behind her.  Flinging herself backwards, the Soldier knocks the Black Widow onto the top of the car until she can gain leverage with her left arm.  Getting a grip around the Black Widow’s leg, she throws the Black Widow bodily away from her in the opposite direction.  The Black Widow goes flying, hitting the car across the street hard and falling to the ground.

The Soldier regains her balance and goes for her weapon.  When she brings the sites up, the Black Widow has gotten her feet under her and she flings something at the Soldier.  It’s magnetic and it makes a _cling_ when it connects with the Soldier’s metal arm. 

A bolt of electricity shoots through the Soldier’s body, and her left arm goes entirely limp.  The Soldier glances up to see the Black Widow sprinting away.  With another frustrated growl, the Soldier grabs the offending piece with her flesh hand and throws it to the ground.  It takes a moment, but her arm reboots with a low whine.  The Soldier flexes her fingers into a fist before she rolls her shoulder hard and reengages the plates of her arm, readjusting her weapon and charging after the Black Widow.

The Black Widow is darting between cars again, shouting at civilians to get out of the way.  The Soldier has had enough of playing cat and mouse with Romanovia, Natalia A.  Striding purposefully towards the sidewalk, the Soldier brings the ACOG up to her face and takes aim.  The Black Widow is good at remaining behind cover, but the Soldier is better at making her shots.  She catches a clear site of the Black Widow through a windshield and she fires.

The Soldier sees the spray of blood, knowing that her aim was true.  But she watches as the target grabs at the wound and brings herself to the ground slowly.  She’s not dead.  The Soldier pounds across the street and leaps up onto the hood of a car, bringing Romanovia, Natalia A into her sites once more.

But before the Soldier can eliminate the target, she hears the pounding off feet to her right.  She glances up just in time to see Rogers, Stephanie G sprinting towards her at superhuman speed.  Rogers, Stephanie G holds her shield in front of her as she charges right at the Solider.  The Soldier lowers her weapon and turns just in time to bring her metal fist hard against the shield.

The shield resounds like a gong, but neither the Soldier nor the target are knocked backwards.  Without wasting a second, the Soldier grabs the edge of the shield and tosses it to the side just enough that she can land a full force kick against the targets chest.

Even with all of her strength, the Soldier is only able to throw the Soldier a couple of feet, and the Soldier losing her own footing in the process.  She lands hard on the roof of the vehicle and brings her sites up again and fires.  The target ducks her entire body behind the shield, which the Soldier realizes bullets can’t penetrate.  So the Soldier throws her M4 to the side and rolls off of the vehicle. 

The target clambers to her feet and the Soldier reaches for the Skorpion on her back.  She fires a clip, but the target is fast and the Soldier only hits the windshield of the car that the target has ducked behind.  When the Soldier reaches to reload the Skorpion, the target vaults herself over the car and lands a powerful kick to the Soldier’s flesh arm, knocking the weapon from her hands.  Spinning, the Soldier reaches for her Derringer.  She fires, but hits only the shield.  Even when the Soldier moves the weapon down to go for the target’s legs, the target is able to deflect.  The target is quick, efficient, has fought with this shield plenty before.  She moves fluidly, only making herself vulnerable when she is about to throw a punch.  She swings her fist and the Soldier ducks, only for the target to brandish the shield like a weapon, throwing its edge hard towards the Soldier’s face.  The Soldier catches the shield though, landing a punch to the targets side and one to her face before she grabs the shield with the other hand, knowing it’s strapped to the targets arm, and twists the shield hard to throw the target onto her back.

But the target is agile, and she flips with the shield and lands on her feet.  The move loosens her grip on the shield though and the Soldier is able to yank it away from her.  She slips it onto her own arm and hits the target with it before following with a punch to the targets chest with her metal fist.

For anybody else, that blow would have stopped their heart.  But this target is only thrown backwards.  She hits the ground and flips backwards, landing on her knees.  The Soldier turns her body and brandishes the target’s shield in front of her, daring the target to attack again.  When the target looks up at her, something makes the Soldier’s stomach flip.

Something about this is sickeningly familiar.

The target is running at the Soldier and the Soldier can’t stand to hold this fucking shield for another second.  She grabs it with her metal hand and flings it at the target full force.  The target barely dodges the shield, and the disc lodges itself into the back of a parked van.  Readjusting her stance, the Soldier pulls her carbon knife from her hip, spinning it in her hand.  She’s always rather enjoyed using the knife much more that her fire arms anyway.

The target doesn’t slow, she never slows.  The Soldier has caught onto the fact that she uses her size and weight like a wrecking ball.  So the Solder ducks her right shoulder in order to deflect.  It knocks the wind out of her, but gives the Soldier enough space the swing with the knife.  For someone so large and heavy, the target is light on her feet, and she dances backwards just out of the Soldier’s reach.

The Soldier blocks a punch, and counters.  The target blocks her and counters herself.  Back and forth they go, evenly matched for a moment, with just their fists.  The target keeps her eyes on the knife, so the Soldier constantly moves it from hand to hand in order to keep the target distracted.  Just when the Soldier thinks she has the upper hand, the target lands a punch that sends the Soldier back a few steps.  Before the Soldier can recover, the target lands a spectacular spin kick to the Soldier’s chest, throwing her backwards into a car.

The Soldier feels the knife tumble from her fingers, and before she can get her feet under her, the target is pressing her advantage, darting forward in order to knee the Soldier in the face.  The target continues to press, but the Soldier blocks her next punch and shoves off of the car to overwhelm the targets balance.  It seems to work for a moment, so the Soldier swings again.  But the target catches the Soldier’s arm in her hold and uses it to flip the Soldier onto her back.

The Solider tightens her grip onto the targets arms, yanking her down to get her off balance and then using her to pull herself to her own feet.  As the Soldier stands, she brings her metal hand up to the targets throat and the plates whine as they engage.  The Soldier yanks the target in close and then uses the momentum to throw her backwards over the car.

Leaping onto the hood, the Soldier throws herself down at the target, metal fist aiming for the target’s head.  But the target rolls out of the way and the Soldier’s fist meets only concrete.  The Soldier can tell that the target is getting tired.  She throws punches with her metal arm into the targets side until the target goes flying into the side of another car.  The Soldier kicks and presses, pulling another carbon blade from her belt and aiming for the target’s head.  The target throws up her arms to block, but the Soldier throws her weight against the knife and her arm whines as it overpowers the target. 

The knife plunges into the side of the car when the target ducks, and the target grabs the Soldier around the waist and throws them both to the side until she can get enough momentum to throw the Soldier to the ground.  The Soldier is dazed, but she recovers and gets to her feet to find that the target has retrieved her shield.  They fight hand to hand again, both clearly showing signs of wear.  The target feigns and when the Soldier presses with her knife, the target is able to get a hand around the Soldier’s left wrist.  The target throws the edge of her shield into the upper arm of the Soldier’s metal appendage, and the Soldier can feel it start to break.  When the Soldier attempts to free herself, the target throws the shield upwards into the Soldier’s face.

The Soldier stumbles, seeing stars as the target spins and grabs the Soldier by the face in order to throw her over the target’s shoulder.  The move rips the mask from the Soldier’s face.  She hits the ground and rolls, still off balance as she struggles to her feet and turns to ready herself for another attack.

Instead of press, the target goes limp, jaw dropping open.  She drops her shield to her side, defensive posture lowering as she just stares for a long moment at the Soldier in what can only be considered utter disbelief.  The Soldier reaches for her Derringer, but the target still isn’t attacking.  The Soldier is confused and she watches the target carefully.

The target’s blonde hair had started to come out of her ponytail, and the unruly wisps blow across her face, plastered to her forehead with sweat in some places.  The target’s mouth is still open and she’s panting, cornflower blue eyes narrowing as she watches the Soldier like she is about to cry.  The Soldier has seen many people as they face down death.  She’s seen plenty of tears, she’s seen terror, she’s even seen confusion.  But she’s never seen anybody look at her he way this target is _staring_ at her now.

The Soldier feels…seen.  It’s uncomfortable and it makes a migraine begin to throb at her temples.  She’s seen this face.  Not just this emotion, but this _exact_ face before.  But the Soldier can’t place where.

“ _Bucky_?” the target finally gasps, voice sounding uncertain, broken.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” the Soldier replies, bringing the Derringer up to aim at the target.

The Soldier is distracted, she doesn’t hear the sound of an incoming to her right until it’s too late.  Something or someone comes shooting out of the sky and knocks the Soldier to the ground.  She rolls and recovers.

But the target is just _standing there_ still, not moving, not running, not trying to fight.  Just staring at the Soldier like she can’t process what she’s seeing.  It causes a sudden sharp stab of panic to pierce the Soldier.  The Soldier tries to look at the target, but there is just something about _her face_.  The Soldier glances around nervously, uncertain for the first time ever.  She brings the pistol back up but sees a round flying at her from behind the target.  A grenade hits the truck behind the Soldier and the blast sends her flying. 

The Soldier struggles to her feet once again.  Her left arm is malfunctioning from when the target had tried to break it.  She reaches for another weapon, but her fingers only brush it before she’s running in the opposite direction.  Away.  She has to get _away_.  She’s running blindly, those blue, confused eyes burrowing into her brain like a parasite.  She knows those eyes.  She’s seen those eyes.  And they know her, they’ve seen her, there is no question about that.

The Soldier thinks of what the target had called her.

Bucky.

Bucky.  Bucky.  Who the hell is Bucky?  Why does that sound so familiar?

The Soldier is stumbling around a corner.

Bucky Barnes.  Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.

“ _Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038_.”

Those words repeat in her head like a mantra, something that she’s said before hundreds, maybe thousands of times.  She knows it.

She knows it.

A STRIKE team is running down the alley at her, talking into the radio that they’ve located the Winter Soldier.  She pays barely any attention to them.  She climbs inside the truck when it comes, staying silent.  But in her mind, she is repeating those words over and over again.

Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.  Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.  Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038. 

She repeats it until she can understand what it means.  It’s a rank, a name, a military unit, a serial number.  The information that captured POW’s are supposed to give to their captors.  The _only_ information that POW’s are supposed to give to their captors.

Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.

Who is that?  An old target?  No, it can’t be.  The woman on the bridge, she had called the Soldier “Bucky.”  That can only mean that the Soldier is Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.  But that doesn’t make any sense.  The Soldier isn’t Sergeant Jamie Barnes, the Soldier is nobody.  She is a weapon.  She is the fist of Hydra.  Wouldn’t she know if she were something else?

Numbly, the Soldier realizes that she’s back at the base, being moved into the conditioning room so that her injuries can be assessed.  People swarm around her and she lets them maneuver her like a rag doll.  Gloved hands pull away her clothing, cut at her tangled hair, stitch closed wounds, and prod at her malfunctioning arm.  The Soldier stares straight ahead and repeats those words to herself.

Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.

“Sergeant Barnes,” a voice calls to her from the past.  The Soldier stares up at a small, Swiss man in large glasses as he bends over her.  She’s on a stretcher.  She’s almost dead.  She had been in the snowy forest for nearly three days, body a broken pulp, waiting for death, pleading for it.  But I had never came.  Instead there was only pain, and a fever so hot it melted the snow around her.

She had fallen.  The woman with the blonde hair and blue eyes had tried to catch her, but the Soldier had fallen anyway.  Into a ravine, body colliding with the rocks on the side.  She had been knocked unconscious, she had come to only to find a coyote gnawing on what was left of her left arm.  A bloody stump.  The rest of her hadn’t done much better.  Both legs broken multiple times, right arm fractured, head bleeding into the snow, ribs practically dust, one lung punctured from the wheezing, sucking sound it made when she tried to breath.  She doesn’t know how she’s alive.  But she can’t move, she can only sob and feel herself expiring from hunger and dehydration.

But death never comes.  Instead, her broken bones start to grow from themselves until they’re too large and they pierce her skin.  She doesn’t know what’s happening to her, but she can guess.  Ever since Azzano, things have been strange.  She hadn’t told Steph, but she’s been shot, stabbed, broken bones, punctured organs. But after every injury, she huddles in her sleeping canvas, feverish and feeling like she’s dying, but she wakes in the morning with nothing but a small scar to show for it. 

They did something to her, and whatever it is, it’s not going to allow her to die her, in this ravine. 

Russian soldiers find her.  They sell her to the Nazi’s, who have been apparently looking for her body.

The Soldier gasps, sitting upright.  She doesn’t know where she is exactly.  Someone beside her is telling her to sit back down.  The Soldier looks around wildly but all she can see or hear is the woman on the bridge, arm outstretched, screaming.

“ _BUCKY!_ ”

The Soldier pants.  They had tortured her for so long, so _so_ long.  They had dissected her bloody stump, shot her with fluids that made her scream in agony, exposed her to extreme elements all in the hopes of making her _regrow_ her arm.  And when she wasn’t being tortured by the scientists, she was being abused mercilessly by the sadistic gaurds.  Starving her, beating her, depriving her, raping her.  Huddled in the corner of her cell, she had repeated that same mantra, day in and day out.

 Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.

Because she knew someone was going to come save her.  She knew that Steph was going to find her.  Bucky _knew_ Steph wouldn’t give up looking for her.

So they couldn’t break her.  And she couldn’t die.  The Soldier looks down at her flesh arm and sees a faded scar that runs from her elbow to her palm.  She can remember how it had felt, when she had held the stolen scissors in her mouth and drug them through her flesh.  She remembers the blood, and how badly she had hoped that she would finally just die.

But of course they wouldn’t let her.  Of course, the serum wouldn’t let her.

Eventually, her left arm _had_ begun to regrow, a horrid mess of bone and sinew jetting out in unnatural directions.  The scientists were just going to let it keep going like that, until that tiny Swiss man had returned from wherever he had been.  The tiny Swiss man had other plans.

“The procedure has already begun,” he had told Bucky, voice almost sing-song.

Bucky hadn’t been sedated, just paralyzed.  Unable to move, she had been forced to watch as they took a saw to the ugly remains of her left arm, peeling it back bit by bit, layer by layer, like the way you’d dress a rabbit you just killed.  Skin, then sinew, then muscle.  Cutting the jagged edge of her bone had hurt most of all.

They thought that would break her.  But all they did was give her a weapon.  Steph was going to find her.  Steph was going to save her.  Steph would never give up looking for Bucky.  When she had gained control of the metal monstrosity, she had killed three scientists.

“Of course she’s given up on you,” a bald man sneers at Bucky as she’s curled on the cold floor, naked and in pain.  The man adjusts his pants.  “She never even looked for you.  The bitch is dead now anyway.”

“You’re wrong,” Bucky had hissed, and it had earned her a kick in the face.

“Don’t believe me?”

He had dragged her by her hair into another room, thrown her down in a chair and given her a newspaper.  It’s the New York Times.

_The Ultimate Sacrifice: Captain America Dead_

Then came the newsreels.  By the end, the Soldier was on the floor.  She wasn’t even crying.  She was too empty to cry.  Instead, she was just broken.

That’s how the Swiss man finds her.  Alone, devastated, nothing left.  An empty shell.

“Put her on ice,” the Swiss man spits dismissively. 

The Soldier watches her own reflection in the glass as her face, her whole body freezes.

The Soldier screams and throws someone across the room.  She sees the STRIKE team point their rifles at her and she pants hard through her nose.  The memories are like sand, already slipping through her fingers.  She just needs to hold onto them for a moment longer.  She grits her teeth so hard that they might break as she tries to chase the quickly fleeting memories.

There’s a commotion to her left, but she doesn’t look up.  She just tries to remember her name, but she isn’t sure if she has a name.  Someone comes closer to her, but she doesn’t even glance their way.  Her mind is crushing the memories, chasing them out with pain.  She can feel blood trickling from her ear. 

The person in front of her smacks her hard across the face.  The Soldier winces but doesn’t look up.  She just furrows her brow.  She knows that it’s her handler speaking to her, she knows his voice instinctively. 

“The woman on the bridge…” the Soldier says, trying to remember the features of the blonde woman with the blue eyes.  “Who was she?”

She finally looks up at her handler.  He’s bent down in front of her.  Something that almost looks like panic flickers across his features but it’s gone in an instant.

“You met her earlier this week on another assignment,” the handler says plainly.

The Soldier drops her gaze.  She tries to remember that assignment, but she can’t.

“I knew her,” the Soldier replies, her own voice sounding far away.

Her handler grabs a stool, rolling it towards him before sitting down in front of the Soldier.

“Your work has been a gift to mankind,” the handler says.  “You shaped the century.”  The Soldier glances up at him, but she can’t remember what exactly he’s talking about.  “And I need you to do it one more time.”  The Soldier’s heart seizes a bit and for a moment, she can’t catch her breath.  “Society’s at a tipping point between order and chaos,” the handler is continuing.  “And tomorrow morning we’re gonna give it a push.  But if you don’t do your part, I can’t do mine.  And Hydra can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.”

The Soldier swallows.  She still doesn’t look up at the handler, just glances around the room, feeling frantic, desperate.  He’s not understanding.  She knows that she’s the Winter Soldier, what she doesn’t know is who she used to be.  That’s what she’s asking him, that’s what she needs to figure out.

“But I knew her,” the Soldier breaths, voice breaking a bit.

The handler sighs and gets to his feet.

“Prep her,” the handler calls to the scientists.  One scientist comments that she’s been out of cryo freeze for too long.  The Soldier swallows back tears.  She doesn’t think she’s ever cried before, but she can see the tears making her vision blur now.  “Then wipe her, and start all over.”

The Soldier deflates.  They’re going to erase her memory.  She’s so close, so so _close_ to remembering.  They can’t wipe her now.  She might not ever remember.  She bites her lip, willing the tears not to fall.

She’s shoved backwards and the chair is engaged.  Across the room, she sees the face of the man she knows is Agent Rumlow, watching her with hungry, wolfish eyes.  A mouth guard is held out, and she opens her mouth so that it can be settled against her teeth so she won’t bite off her tongue during the pain. 

The Soldier leans back, eyes going to ceiling.  She’s frantically trying to remember.

Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.  Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.  Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.

The needles along her back shoot into her spine.  She tenses, but doesn’t cry out because this pain is nothing compared to the pain to come.  Heavy metal restraints settle around her arms.  She begins to pant, she knows what’s coming.

Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.  Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.

The nodes crackle as they move towards her head.  She bites down on the mouth guard.

Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.

The nodes settle onto her face and head, needles shooting out and piercing through her skull.

And then the real pain begins.


	20. Winter Soldier: Part V

Steph is only barely aware of what is going on around her.  She feels the crowd of people with their hands on her, shouting at her, she feels her knees being knocked out as she is forced to the ground.  But in her mind, there is only one thought.

Bucky.

Steph realizes numbly that she is probably about to die.  She can feel the muzzle of an M4 pressed to the back of her head.  But everything that is happening around her seems to be moving in slow motion.  She’s not really there.  In her mind, she’s still standing, staring slack jawed at a face she was certain that she would never see again.  It was impossible.  She had stared into those eyes, and they had stared back at her, cold and unyielding.  Steph had known them, but they didn’t know her.

Steph looks up to see Sam being handcuffed and Nat, bleeding and stumbling, being roughly dragged towards a SWAT van.  Behind her, she hears Brock Rumlow hiss, “Not here,” before the muzzle is moved away.  Steph just stares at the ground, mind both entirely empty and impossibly full at the same time.

She feels herself being yanked to her feet, and a set of heavy, specially designed cuffs are locked onto her forearms.  Somebody drags Steph across the street to the SWAT van.  Inside are Nat and Sam, feet locked to the floor, along with two masked guards.  Steph is shoved in roughly before the back door is slammed and locked with a loud, metallic clank. 

Nat is watching Steph carefully, breathing labored as blood continues to run down her chest from where the Winter Soldier—where _Bucky_ shot her.  Steph just stares straight ahead and the van starts to rumble away.

It’s not possible, it isn’t possible.  That’s all Steph can think.  Because, if Bucky is alive, then that means…

Steph had never even looked for her body.  Instead, Steph had just felt sorry for _herself_.  She had tried to get drunk and then drove a plane into the ocean, leaving Bucky to face whatever came next.

The implications make Steph heave.

Across the van, Sam has now taken over Nat’s vigil, as the redhead leans back and concentrates on breathing, precise and methodical.  Sam’s face is twisted in confused worry and it doesn’t take her long to speak up.

“So, you gonna tell me what just happened out there?”

Steph is barely aware of her lips moving.

“Bucky,” she breathes.

“Wait…Bucky?  Like Bucky Barnes?  _The_ Bucky Barnes?” Sam asks in disbelief. 

Steph glances up at Nat, but Nat avoids her gaze, something that looks suspiciously like guilt crossing her face.

“It was her,” Steph mutters, eyes returning to the floor.

Sam just cocks her head.

“She looked right at me like she didn’t even know me…” Steph adds.

Those eyes, those frigid grey eyes full of nothing but disinterest.  Steph shivers and bites back tears.

Sam looks at Nat for some sort of explanation, but Nat just winces when she tries to sit up.

“How’s that even possible?” Sam demands.  “That was like 70 years ago!”

“Zola,” Steph replies, voice flat.  “Bucky’s whole unit was captured in ’43.  Zola experimented on her.  Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall.”

Steph doesn’t want to think about what that means.  How long had Zola known?  How long had Bucky known?  Had Hydra been after Bucky from the beginning?  Oh god, was the train just a trap?

“They must have found her,” Steph breaths, voice breaking.

“None of that is your fault, Steph,” Nat says quietly.

Nat’s head thunks backwards, and Steph hears Sam fretting over her wound, telling the guards that Nat needs a doctor or she’s going to bleed out.  Steph realizes that Sam doesn’t know that they’re all about to die.  Steph swallows hard.  She’s going to die, again, and leave Bucky, again, in the hands of Hydra.

As a response, one of the guard pulls out a stun stick and lunges menacingly.  But a moment later, the guard turns and drives the stick into the side of the other guard, before kicking him hard in the face.  His body slumps to the floor and Steph watches as Maria Hill yanks off the riot helmet.

“Who’s this?” Hill asks, looking at Sam.

“Uh, Sam Wilson, who are you?” Sam demands.

“Agent Hill,” Steph replies quietly, still too numb to engage entirely.

“Agent?  Like SHIELD Agent?  Isn’t SHIELD the bad guys now?!” Sam asks incredulous. 

“Well, ex-SHIELD agent technically,” Hill replies with a sardonic smile before yanking a chain of keys out of her pocket and undoing Sam’s cuffs, before handing the keys to her so she can free Nat and Steph.  Meanwhile, Hill yanks a laser drill and begins to cut a hole in the bottom of the van.

A few minutes later, the four of them are dropping onto the concrete and scurrying towards the woods before anyone can see them.  Steph carries Nat, who was stumbling over branches and slurring her words, so Sam carries Steph’s shield.  They walk for twenty minutes through the woods, Hill leading the way.  Steph concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other and listening to Nat’s heartrate.

Eventually, they come to an SUV parked on the side of the road, and they all pile in, Hill getting into the driver’s seat.  Unfortunately, the drive is long which means Steph’s mind is idle once again.

Bucky killed Fury.  Bucky is working for Hydra.  Bucky is the _Winter Soldier_ , the assassin credited with pushing the world towards chaos for the last seventy years.  How and why would Bucky do that, _be_ that?

And why had she looked Steph in the eye and not known her?

Steph knew every intimate detail of Bucky Barnes.  She would never forget the way her silver eyes lit up when she looked at Steph.  She would never forget the way Bucky said Steph’s name.  Not a day goes by in which Steph doesn’t think about Bucky.  The Winter Soldier was Bucky Barnes, Steph was certain of that.  She still looked to be in her mid-twenties, she looked the same age as she had when she disappeared into the ravine. 

But even though Bucky looked the same age, she did not look the _same._   She was taller, broader, yet somehow sallow.  Her skin was pale, her cheekbones stood in stark contrast on her thin face, her eyes were sunken, and her once soft, wavy hair now hung lank in jagged locks around her face.  She may still be the same age, but her eyes seemed _ancient_.  Empty, detached.  They made Steph shiver just remembering them.

Steph had seen Bucky fight, but it was nothing compared to the way the Winter Soldier fought. Bucky had always been an excellent marksman, but it was nothing compared to the Winter Soldier’s near surgical precision with a weapon.   Steph had seen Bucky carry out brutality during the war, but it was nothing compared to the flippant carnage that the Winter Soldier left in her wake. 

How had Bucky become the Winter Soldier?  Steph’s mind goes to dark places to answer that question.  Because Steph _knows_ Bucky Barnes.  She was the only woman that Steph ever truly loved.  So she knows that there was no way in heaven or hell that Bucky had chosen to become this monster. 

Conditioning.  Brain washing.  Torture. 

And Steph had plunged into the ocean instead of trying to help Bucky.  Steph had left Bucky in the hands of Hydra, and Hydra had twisted everything that made Bucky good and strong and brave and turned it into a wicked foil of the woman she had once been.

Steph needs to save her.  She can’t just run away again, she can’t allow her grief to overcome her.  She needs to get Bucky _away_ from Hydra, to remind her who Steph is, who _she_ is.  But Steph knows that, even if she can save Bucky, Bucky would never be able to forgive her.

Steph is never going to be able to forgive herself.

Steph thinks she is going to be sick.

Luckily, the car and coming to a stop at the base of a dam.  Steph supports Nat as they climb out of the car and follow Hill inside.  A man in a suit is running towards them, down the dimly lit, concrete hall.  Hill tells him Nat’s been shot and the man asks to take her.  Steph knows she should be on alert.  She has no idea where they are, who this man is.  She doesn’t know that she can trust Hill.  This could easily be a trap.  Steph bristles slightly, arm tightening around Nat protectively. 

“She’ll want to see her first,” Hill tells the man, and their group makes a sharp turn to move deeper into the damp labyrinth.

Not even a minute later, Steph is face to face with a very much alive Nicole Fury. 

Nat immediately detaches herself from Steph and marches right up to the hospital bed that Fury is laying in.  A look of anger twists Nat’s face.

“If you didn’t look like it might break you, I would punch you right now,” Nat snaps.

“Missed you too, Romanoff,” Fury drawls.

Nat reaches down and Fury takes her hand.  Nat squeezes it affectionately.  It’s probably the most tender thing Steph has ever see her do.  Fury breaks the moment by telling Nat to go see the doctor, and the man in the suit goes about busying himself.  Nat sits herself down on an old chair, refusing to the leave the room, so the man has to go get his medical kit from elsewhere.

As Nat gets a blood transfusion and the bullet is extracted from her shoulder, Fury begins to list her many injuries.  Steph just watches Fury, still suspicious.  She needs to know how much Fury knows.  Did she know about Bucky?  Steph has worked with the woman long enough to never assume that she is ignorant to anything.

“Why all the secrecy?  Why not just tell us?” Steph demands.

“Any attempt of the director’s life had to look successful,” Hill replies.

“Can’t kill ya if you’re already dead,” Fury adds.  “Besides, I wasn’t sure who to trust.”

Steph scoffs.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a hell of a day, Nicole.  And I’m not sure who I can trust either,” Steph snaps.  “Still not sure if I can trust you.”

Fury sighs.

“What if I told you that I have a plan to take down the Insight carriers?”

 

***

 

Steph marches out of the room, muttering about needing some air.  Nat gives Hill a look and Hill turns to Sam.

“Stolen Falcon pack, interesting choice,” Hill says to Sam with an arched eyebrow.  “We’ve got a mechanic here, he’s no Stark, but he can retrofit the pack.”

Sam concedes, and she follows Hill out of the room, leaving Nat and Fury alone.  Nat lowers herself into the seat across the Fury and levels her with a critical stare.

“How’d she take it?” Fury asks.

“How do you think she took it, Nicole?” Nat snaps, not meaning to come off so angry.

“Is she compromised?”

Nat sighs, leaning back in her chair, wincing at the pain in her shoulder. 

“She’s Captain America, of course she isn’t compromised,” Nat replies finally.

“You’re sure that this isn’t going to put this whole mission in jeopardy?  If Rogers won’t take out the Winter Soldier—“

“Barnes,” Nat corrects sharply.

Fury huffs, leaning forward to put her weight on her elbow. 

“Romanoff, you’re sounding awfully emotional right now,” Fury says calmly.  When Nat goes to protest, Fury holds up a hand.  “You’re a good agent because you _don’t_ get emotional.  I know that Rogers is your friend now.  But we can’t let that get in the way of what needs to be done.  Hydra needs to be stopped, destroyed.  And Hydra’s greatest weapon is _Barnes_.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?” Nat cries.  “I _know_ what Hydra is capable of.  I know how they manipulate people, turn them into something that they’re not.  I know what they’re done to Barnes.  If the Winter Soldier dies, then we’re going to lose Steph.  Is that a risk you are willing to take?”

Fury dry washes her face.

“The conditioning can be broken.  We can capture Barnes and I can—“

“Romanoff!  Are you listening to yourself?  Sure we could lose Rogers, but if Hydra succeeds, we will lose so much more, including _all_ of our lives.  You’re too close to this.”

“Are you suggesting that I’m compromised?” Nat demands.

“You and Rogers are the two best qualified for this mission, the _only_ ones I’m confident can carry this out.  But I don’t want either of you getting distracted by trying to save Barnes.  The priority is taking down the carriers.”

Nat gets to her feet.  She knows Fury doesn’t understand what this means to Nat.  Fury doesn’t have any idea of just how many like her and Barnes are out there: mind slaves being treated like objects and used like weapons by high power organizations with nefarious intentions.  Nat had gotten away, she had escaped because Clara had seen her as a person, not as a target or as a weapon.  Clara had taken a chance and decided to save her instead of kill her.  And if Nat could be saved, if Barnes can be saved, then they all can be saved.  But, instead, Fury is looking at Barnes the same way everyone else does.  Everyone except Steph.

But Nat isn’t going to win this fight with Fury.  Because Fury is right.  Hydra must be stopped or millions are going to die.  But that doesn’t mean that Nat can’t save Barnes also. 

“Where are you going?” Fury demands.

“For some air,” Nat replies shortly.

She finds Steph outside, standing on the top of the damn.  Steph is staring blankly out at the dried spillway below.  She doesn’t even see Nat coming and jumps when Nat lays a hand on her shoulder.

“How’s the shoulder?” Steph asks flatly.

“Eh, I’ve had worse.”

Steph nods and returns to staring at nothing.

“Hey,” Nat prods softly.  It takes a moment, but Steph finally looks at her again.  “Look, when I was in the Red Room, they gave me an alternative version of Erksine’s serum.”

Steph nods again.  “I read your file,” Steph mutters.

“I know, but just listen, alright?  They gave me the serum and it made me susceptible to conditioning.  Brain washing.  I was sold to the KGB to be an assassin.  Sound familiar.”

Steph’s brow furrows, a small look of realization hitting her.

“Breaking that conditioning was…difficult and painful.  It wasn’t a clean break.  It took time.  Little by little.  It’s like…trying to dig yourself out of a grave.  The more you push, the more keeps falling back on top of you.  But eventually, you can get free.  Barton…she was there for me.  She helped me.  Every day, she would come into the room I was being kept in and she would say the thing she said to me when she first met me.  ‘You seem like a treat.’  It was simple, but it helped me remember who she was, who I was trying to be.  It was an anchor that I could rearrange myself around.  An actually good memory that I good hold onto.  That’s what it took.  A memory.”

Steph stares hard at Nat, but doesn’t speak, barely even moves.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Nat asks.

Steph’s gaze drops to her hands and she swallows hard.

“I think I do,” Steph breathes. 

Nat claps her on the shoulder.  “Good, now I have to be fitted with some prosthetics.  You should probably suit up.”

Steph offers Nat a grateful smile.  Nat returns it before turning to walk away.

 

***

 

A memory.  But what memory.

Steph wracks her brain.  She thinks of the war, of the playground, of Brooklyn.  There’s so many memories that she cherishes, but how can she know which one will mean something to Bucky?

Then it hits her.

Steph wouldn’t call it a happy memory.  It was actually one of the worst days of her entire life.  She was sixteen.  Small and sickly as ever.  And three days prior, her mother had finally succumb to tuberculosis.  Dressed in a shabby skirt and blouse that were a size too large, Steph was walking home alone, still feeling too numb to think.  She had just left her mother’s funeral.  Sarah Rogers had been loved by so many people in their neighborhood.  The funeral had actually been quite crowded.  But Steph had felt so utterly alone.  So many people she barely knew were coming up to her and looking at her with wide, pitying eyes.  They had offered their empty platitudes, some had given her covered dishes of food, others had just offered a pat on the shoulder.  But they had all looked at her with a sickening sort of knowing on their faces.

If Sarah was dead, Steph was almost certain to follow.  Tuberculosis was contagious, and Steph’s immune system was always in a constant state of compromised.  She was a walking dead woman.

Steph was sixteen, sick, and alone.

Bucky had been at the funeral, along with her parents.  Bucky had dressed exceptionally well.  Steph had never seen her hair in such neat curls.  The black dress she wore fit her perfectly.  She looked like an adult, and Steph just felt like a little girl.  She had spent most of the funeral avoiding Bucky and her family.  But now, as Steph was nearing her stoop, she could see Bucky leaned against the wall waiting for her.

Steph had just sighed, walked past Bucky with her hands dug into the pockets of the coat she wore.  Bucky pushed off the wall and had followed her up the stairs.

“We looked for you after,” Bucky called to Steph.  “My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery.”

“I know,” Steph said.  “I’m sorry.  I just…kinda wanted to be alone.”

Bucky paused for a long moment.

“How was it?” Bucky had finally asked.

“It was okay.  She’s next to dad.”

“I was gonna ask…” Bucky began.  She wanted to invite Steph to stay with her.  Whether she had meant for the night, or forever, Steph hadn’t been sure.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck.  I just…”

“We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids,” Bucky had said, almost pleading.  “It’ll be fun, all you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.”

It had been her attempt at a joke.  Trying to lighten the situation.  But Steph had barely heard her.  She had been too busy digging through her pockets for her key.  The frustration had almost overwhelmed her, she had been so close to breaking down and crying right there on her stoop.  But then Bucky was there, holding the spare key in her hand.

“Come on,” Bucky plead.

Steph had taken the key with a grateful sigh, but had dropped her gaze to her shoes.

“Thank you Buck,” Steph had sighed.  “But I can get by on my own.”

Bucky had nodded slightly before her face had gotten serious.  She waited for Steph to look her in the eye, putting a hand on Steph’s shoulder and squeezing.

“The thing is, you don’t have to,” Bucky had said solemnly.  “I’m with you to the end of the line.”

Steph doesn’t remember much of the rest of the day.  Bucky had continued to press until she had agreed to let Bucky stay the night.  It hadn’t been long before Steph had finally broken down in tears, and Bucky had led her to the bed and let her cry against her chest until Steph was exhausted and fell asleep.  In the morning, Bucky was still there, cradling Steph gently against her chest, still dressed in her pretty black dress that Steph had now ruined with her tears.  The weeks after that night are all a blur, but when Steph had thought back to that moment on the stoop in the coming months, she had realized something painfully important.

That moment was the moment Steph had realized that Bucky Barnes loved her.

They hadn’t “officially” gotten together for about a year after that, once Bucky had moved into Steph’s small apartment permanently.  But Steph had known from that moment, but Bucky would do anything for her.  It had been heavy and hard to handle at first, but eventually the realization made Steph feel warm and happy because then she realized that she felt the same way about Bucky.

But she had never told Bucky that.

Bucky loved her and had loved her for almost a century.  And Steph had loved her back just as furiously.  Steph had failed her, but now she could save her.

Steph was with Bucky to the end of the line.


	21. The End of the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: rape

The Soldier’s entire body aches.  It aches in a way that it hasn’t ached in decades.  Real, deep, almost meta-physical pain.  Pain, in its most raw form, is something that the Soldier is more than accustomed to.  But this pain.  This pain is different.  And the more the Soldier tries to remember _why_ she is in so much pain, the worse the pain becomes.

She huddles in the corner of a room, knees drawn up to her chest, staring blankly at the white concrete wall across from her.  There is a bed in this room, and a shower.  It isn’t a typical prison cell, but it’s a cell all the same.  The heavy, metal door with massive mechanical and magnetic locks is thick and strong enough that not even the Soldier can break through.  She can’t escape, not that escape is on her mind.  No, her brain is somewhere far less cerebral. 

The guards who watch the camera feed from every corner in her room scratch their chins and work on crossword puzzles.  The Soldier motionless and silent isn’t something unheard of.  But usually, when she is contained to her “room,” she paces like a capture animal, like a massive jungle cat, prowling back and forth, eyes fliting from camera to camera.  The guards are glad that she is looking somewhere else than straight at them.  They would be lying is they said it wasn’t unnerving—that beast stalking, barely contained, all muscle and murderous intent, dark, dead eyes boring into their very souls.  The guards who watch her now have been here long enough, they have had to deal with the Winter Soldier plenty enough to know: there is no humanity left in that animal.  She is little more than a machine, one whose only intent is slaughter.

Brock Rumlow bursts into the guard station.  The guards straighten, the head guard jumping to his feet and going to attention.

“Sir!” the guard says, averting his eyes.

“At ease,” Rumlow growls. 

Rumlow is even more angry and fierce than usual.  A bruise blossoms over one of his eyes.  The head guard has been on duty for nearly twenty four hours, and the base has been on Red Level lockdown, but rumors spread quickly among the lower ranking Hydra soldiers.  The guard had heard that Rumlow had gone face to face with the Captain, with over fifteen men as backup, in an elevator, and lost.  He had also heard that after the Captain was captured, she had vanished from the back of an armored transport.  Rumlow’s highly disgruntled attitude seems to verify at least the vein of those stories.

“Status report,” Rumlow demands, nodding at the screens.

“Uhm,” the guards glances over his shoulder, “the asset hasn’t moved for nearly an hour.  We heard from higher that another wipe would be necessary before redeployment.  There’s a lot of…cognitive dissonance.”

Rumlow only grunts in reply before turning on his heel and striding out of the small station.  A few minutes later, the guards watch the heavy metal door swing open over the feed.

The Soldier doesn’t even look up when Rumlow enters.  She continues to stare at the blank wall, not even blinking, too far gone in her own head.  Rumlow marches forward and crouches in front of the Soldier.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Rumlow growls.

The Soldier continues to stare over Rumlow’s shoulder.  Rumlow lifts a hand and smacks her on her cheek lightly.

“Hey, where you at?” Rumlow demands.  “Have you gone away?”

The Soldier doesn’t react.

“Uh-uh,” Rumlow snaps, getting swiftly to his feet and grabbing the Soldier hard by her throat.  The Soldier doesn’t resist.  He drags her to her feet, but her body stays lax.  So Rumlow turns and hauls her towards the small bed, throwing her roughly against it.  Rumlow grins wickedly and his hands go to his belt.  “You don’t get to go away unless _I_ say so.”

The Soldier is limp on the bed, her eyes falling now on the lamp on the bedside table.

Somehow, this all feels painfully familiar. 

This man’s stench, his breath, his weight, his smug voice.  He flips her onto her stomach and uses a knife to release the belt from the Soldier’s waist.  The Soldier tucks her chin and continues to watch the lamp. 

The man is heavy and sweat drenched.  He smells like gunpowder and war.  She knows the smell well.  He folds over her back, muscled arm hooking around her throat.  The Soldier doesn’t react.  Something inside of her tells her not to fight.  Her fight left nearly a century ago, somehow she knows that.  The man wrenches hard, one hand forcing her lower back to the bed, the other yanking her head upward so that her back arches painfully.  The Soldier’s eyes slide shut.  The man hisses into her ear, but she ignores it.

When he thrusts inside of her with no preparation, his arm around her throat tightens.  The man begins to shout into her ear, goading her, insulting her, begging her to react.  The Soldier keeps her eyes shut.  She keeps her eyes shut and tries to let her body go completely still.  Until the man hisses something into her ear that the Soldier can’t possibly ignore.

“What do you think _she_ would think if she saw you now?” the man demands.  “On your hands and knees like a good little whore.”  The Soldier’s eyes snap open and she jolts a bit.  The man only laughs.  “Oh you remember her now, don’t you?  Your pal, your buddy, your _Stephie_.”

The Soldier’s left hand flies to the arm around her neck.  In one bruising movement, she crushes the bone there.  The man on top of her shouts, and releases.  When the Soldier falls onto the bed, she grabs for the lamp on the table, twisting immediately and slamming the painted glass against the man’s head.  He’s stunned, and the Soldier coils her body and kicks the man with all of her strength across the room.  He crashes against the wall and crumples on the floor.

The Soldier screams, and to the guards, it sounds more like an animalistic roar.  She’s across the room in a moment, metal fist raised, and the guards have seen enough of their own ranks killed by such a move.  The alarm begins to scream, but the Soldier doesn’t bring her fist down.  Instead, her flesh hand curls in Rumlow’s shirt and yanks his ear up to her lips.  The guards see her whisper something, but they can’t tell what it is that she says.  The metal door to the room is swinging open, and armed guards are starting to pour into the room.  But the Soldier doesn’t bring her fist down, she just calmly gets to her feet, body going lax as the guards tackle her to the ground.

For the first time ever, the guards see a look of absolute horror on the face of Brock Rumlow.

 

***

 

Sarah pushes her glasses up onto her forehead, rubbing her temples.  Twisting in her seat to pop her back, she catches a glimpse of Jen.  Jen is bent dangerously close to the screen of her laptop, what appears to be a news report reflecting in her glasses.  Sarah pulls the earbuds out of her ears, the classical opera she has been listening to for nearly three hours stopping abruptly. 

“What’s that?” Sarah asks, voice raspy from disuse.

Jen sits up quickly, pulling her glasses off and pushing the screen of her laptop down.  She clears her throat and runs a hand through her messy, oily hair.

“News report,” Jen replies, rubbing her eyes now.  “Have-…have you seen what’s happening in DC?”

“Jen,” Sarah warns, voice low, “the serum isn’t perfected yet.”

Jen sighs, shutting her laptop all the way and pushing herself away from the desk.  She leans forward and settles her arms on her knees before leveling Sarah with a look.

“Sarah, why are you helping me?” Jen asks, voice even.

Because curing Jennifer Banner from the Hulk would be a medical breakthrough.  Because the name of Dr. Sarah Strange would become a household name.  Because ever medical journal on earth would be interested.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Sarah replies evenly.

“Strange,” Jen says, voice low as her eyes drop, “come on.  I used to be like you.  Headstrong.  Sure of myself.  The leading edge of my medical field.”  Jen pauses, turning her weary eyes on Sarah again.  “Women like us, we’re not happy with…mediocrity.  We’d never have become doctors otherwise, and we never would have become the best at what we do.  And if you weren’t the best, then I wouldn’t have come to you.”

“What are you saying, Banner?” Sarah demands.

Jen shakes her head.

“All it took was one mistake,” Jen says, eyes on the floor.  “One mistake, Strange, and everything changed.  But I still remember what it was like.  To be sure.  To feel invincible.  So you don’t have to lie to me.”

Sarah begins to say something, but Jen holds up her hand.  She pulls out her phone, tapping and scrolling quickly until she finds what she wants.  Jen offers the phone to Sarah, and Sarah snatches it.

“Unknown Assassin Goes Head to Head with Captain America on I-93: Could This Be the Fabled Winter Soldier?” the headline reads.

“What is this?” Sarah asks.  She’s seen the headlines, the news reports, the stories.  Something big is happening in DC.  A major terrorist plot is unfolding.  But Sarah and Jen are in California, forty eight hours into their research.  Not even a meteor could stop Sarah now. 

“That’s my friend,” Jen replies sharply, “in danger.”

“I thought you were done with the Avengers.”

Jen huffs, sitting upright.  She rubs her eyes again.

“I was done with Toni.  Steph—Captain America is…”

Sarah furrows her brow and turns herself back around in her chair. 

“The serum is not ready yet,” Sarah says tersely.  “If you went out there, you would only be hurting things.  I’m sorry.”

From behind her, Sarah hears Jen get to her feet.  She hears Jen’s feet beat on the carpeted floor, and she hears the office door open and then slam shut.

“You know I’m right!” Sarah shouts over her shoulder.

Sarah pushes her glasses back down and leans closer to her computer.

 

***

 

The HMMWV rumbles, the engine revving loudly, as it barrels down the street at nearly 100 miles per hour.  The Winter Soldier presses the gas petal to the floor, swerving between cars and avoiding police road blocks.  Her mission today is simple: find and eliminate Rogers, Stephanie G. 

Civilians in the city are panicked.  DC has been on lockdown for two days now.  Police and National Guard presence has been amped up to annoying levels.  But the Soldier ignores them all.  Her armored vehicle bursts through a barrier and she skids to a halt on the south side of the Triskelion. 

In the passenger seat is a tactical bag.  She grabs it as she jumps out of the vehicle.  Tugging it open, she removes her M1A4 and M203, along with ten HAMMER all-purpose rounds, ten grenades, five extra clips, and five electro-magnetic rounds.  Moving in swift, fluid motions that only come with practice, she holsters the pistols and rounds, attaches the grenade launcher, and slings the rifle with a three point retracting sling. 

There is chaos, but chaos is the common operating environment for the Winter Soldier.  She doesn’t mind it.  In fact, it’s almost comforting.  Alarms blare, soldiers dart from building to building, and the massive helicarriers are launching from the uncovered bays. 

The radio interceptor in the Soldier’s ear crackles to life and she picks up a transmission from the nearby hanger.

“All SHIELD pilots, scramble!  We’re the only air support that Captain Rogers has got.”

The Soldier doesn’t hesitate.  She swings the M4 around her body and aims at the jet that is taking off from the flight pad with the M203.  The grenade explodes and the jet goes into a tailspin, crashing hard into the concrete.  The pilots and flight crews all shield themselves with their arms, jumping out of the way.  The Soldier reloads.

Three more explosions in quick succession.  The Soldier spots an agent running at her, grenade in hand.  She pulls the sights up closer to her face and fires at him with her rifle.  He collapses and the Soldier bends to scoop up the popped grenade.  In a sprint, she tosses the grenade into the closing loading bay of a nearby jet.

The Soldier knows that she is going to have to get onto a jet.  She tosses her rifle to the ground, it’s hindering her movement.  From her left, a launch tech fires at her with a rifle.  She blocks the spray with her metal arm, punching him hard in the face.  Another tech takes aim with a pistol.  But the Soldier doesn’t give him the chance to fire.  She kicks him as hard as she can in the chest.  He flies backwards and into the rotary of a jet. 

The Soldier ducks out of the way of the explosion and darts across the launch pad to where a cockpit is closing on a whining quinjet.  She jumps onto the left wing and swings herself up onto the glass above the pilots head, not hesitating to reach for her Skorpion and fire a burst at the pilot’s head.  He slumps in the seat and the Soldier tears the side from the cockpit, climbing in.  She shoves the pilot out the other side and grabs the controls.

From the deck of one of the helicarriers, the Soldier watches as a red, white and blue clad figure is throw over the side, only to be chased by someone clearly using a FALCON pack.  The Soldier yanks hard on the controls of the jet, not caring that her landing is bumpy and the right wing of the jet collides hard with the deck of the helicarrier.  She jumps out of the cockpit and is across the deck in a matter of seconds.  She watches as the FALCON operator pulls the Captain Rogers up in a shaky arch and lands them both on the deck not twenty feet from where the Soldier stands.

Ducking behind a cargo box, the Soldier waits for the right moment.  The target doesn’t even see her.  Rookie mistake.  The Soldier steps out and kicks the target hard, right over the edge of the deck once more. 

“Steph!” the FALCON shouts as she attempts to dive after the target.  But when the wings expand, the Soldier reaches out and grabs one with her metal hand.

The Soldier whips the FALCON backwards, but the operator regains her balance.  She’s good, the Soldier can give her that.  Not a moment later, the FALCON has two pistols and is firing in three round busts at the Soldier.  But her aim is obviously thrown, and the Soldier avoids the spray easily.  When the FALCON tries to follow the Soldier around the gunnery hold that she’s taken cover behind, the Soldier fires a grappling hook at the FALCON’s left wing and yanks hard, sending the operator tumbling to the deck.  The Soldier yanks again and this time is successful in pulling one of the wings free.  Not waiting for the operator to recover, the Soldier rushes her, kicking her hard and sending her tumbling towards the earth after the target.

The Soldier glances down to watch the operator flailing as she plummets only to catch glimpse of the target hauling herself up onto one of the thruster ports.  The target really should consider getting rid of that gaudy colorful outfit, it makes for extremely poor camouflage.  Not that the Soldier is complaining, it just makes her job that much easier.

The target is heading towards the navigation computer, the Soldier knows this.  From the deck, it doesn’t take the Soldier even a whole minute to get there.  But she waits patiently, and sure enough, the target appears on the other end of the catwalk.

The target slows to a stop, body going lax as she stares the Soldier down.  Something about her narrowed blue eyes, the danger and the fearlessness in them, makes the Soldier’s head begin to ache.  So she concentrates on her mission instead.  She knows that the target is strong, as strong as the Soldier, maybe even more so.  The Soldier is always open to a _real_ challenge.  So she quiets her mind and stares hard at the target’s chest, hard at the exact point at which she is going to aim her next shot.

“People are going to die, Buck,” the target says, pleading, desperation saturating her voice.  But not the kind of desperation that the Soldier is used to.  She’s plenty used to pleading, but it’s usually for themselves and their own lives.  But this woman, the Soldier’s target, seems to be begging for someone else.  She’s begging the Soldier not to fight for the _Soldier’s_ sake, and that makes the Soldier’s stomach squirm with discomfort.  “I can’t let that happen.”

The Soldier doesn’t reply.  She just flicks her eyes upwards, back to the shining blue that seems to be trying to burrow into the Soldier’s very soul.  But, unfortunately for the target, the Soldier has no soul.

“Please don’t make me do this,” the target begs, sounding almost on the verge of tears.

The Soldier just lowers her chin.

The target sighs.  But the Soldier keeps her eyes on her target.  The shield in the targets arms is thrown and comes barreling at the Soldier.  The Soldier lifts her metal arm to deflect, keeping hold of the pistols in her hands.  She straightens and fires twice, but the target is quick.  She grabs the shield and ducks behind it, rushing at the Soldier.

They fight.  The Soldier eventually grazes the target’s side with a bullet, but the target doesn’t slow.  Instead, she lunges hard and uses her shield to throw the Soldier back against the computer.  The Soldier loses a pistol, but she replaces it quickly with a carbon blade from her boot.  She twirls the thing in her hand and stares hard up at the target and something about that move feels painfully familiar.  But the Soldier swallows that feeling down and presses.

For a moment, they are easily matched.  But the target doesn’t seem interested in fighting the Soldier, instead she is just trying to push the Soldier away from her.  She lands some kicks that throw the Soldier back, and the target uses those opportunities to activate the computer.  The Soldier notices that the target is trying to replace one of the navigation blades.  So she changes her strategy.  When they come to blows again, the Soldier works to use the target’s weight against her, throwing her off balance before tackling her right off the catwalk.

The Soldier is a little dazed, but she launches herself at the target again, noticing that the replacement blade has fallen.  She has to get the target away from the computer, but the target is quick and strong and smart, and she uses the same tactic used against her.  This time, it’s the Soldier that is thrown off the ledge.  Luckily, the replacement blade goes tumbling with her.

Once the Soldier regains her footing, she pulls the derringer from her boot and aims at the target.  But the target has that fucking shield again.  The target throws the thing again, and this time the Soldier doesn’t just deflect it, she swings her metal arm to deflect it up and away before rushing at the target with her carbon blade in hand.  She quickly overpowers the target and sinks the blade into her shoulder, but the target uses her helmet to headbutt the Soldier hard. 

The two separate and the target stumbles towards a brace, yanking the knife from her shoulder.  The Soldier spots the replacement blade on the ground, and she dives for it.  But the target it there in an instant.  The Soldier grabs the thing in her flesh hand just as the target gets her own hand around the Soldier’s neck, lifting her bodily in the air.

The Soldier roars and sputter, grabbing at the target’s wrist with her metal hand.  The target turns and body slams the Soldier onto the glass below.  The blow stuns the Soldier and in an instant, the target has the Soldier’s flesh arm in a lock.

“Drop it!” the target demands.

The Soldier strains against her, but the target’s strong.  The target continues to put backwards pressure on the Soldier’s arm.  She can feel the socket about to pop and she is quickly regretting not grabbing the blade in her metal arm.  Flailing, the Soldier swings an awkward punch over her shoulder, but she knows it’s useless.  The target continues to demand that she drop the blade.  When she refuses, the target yanks her arm back the quarter of an inch necessary to rip the Soldier’s shoulder from its socket.

The Soldier screams in real pain, but she doesn’t drop the blade.  So the target twists and drops, getting the Soldier into her lower hold.  The Soldier knows that she is screwed now.  She knows that this target is strong enough to kill her and that she’s just allowed herself to be put into a weak position.  Sure enough, the target gets the Soldier in a headlock, using her legs to pin the Soldier’s metal arm at her side.

The target is strong, and the Soldier is helpless.  She flails, tries to gain purchase on the slick glass below, but her oxygen is cut off.  Her vision is begin to tunnel.  She’s going to die. 

And in the very last moment, the Soldier is at peace with that.  For some reason, she feels like she wants this.  The Soldier wants the release of death, has wanted it for a very long time.  So she stops fighting, and she invites the cold grip to consume her.

She invites it to finally take her away.

 

***

 

When the Soldier comes to, she can’t exactly remember where she is.  There’s an emptiness in her head that is uncomfortable to the point of painful.  Her vision is blurry, so she reaches out to feel for what’s around her, only to flinch and gasp at the pain in her shoulder.  She shrugs it a bit, it’s clearly dislocated.  Gritting her teeth, she reaches over with her metal hand and holds her right shoulder as she rotates her arm.  With a small pop, the bone settles back in its socket. 

Above her, the Soldier can make out the shape of someone wearing bright colors hoisting themselves up towards the navigation computer of a helicarrier.  The Soldier blinks a few times and her memory comes back to her in small waves.

The mission.  The target. 

She reaches for the TEC 38 on her hip and staggers to her feet, taking an unsteady aim at the red, white and blue target.  The bullet is true and it hits the target in the back of her leg.  The target stumbles to the ground, glances back at the Soldier, and then crawls to her feet again. 

The Soldier growls at the target refusal to go down.  So she fires again, barely missing the target’s arm.  The Soldier stumbles back a few steps, tucking her injured arm against her side as she brings the sites on the pistol to eye level.

By the time the target has hauled herself up onto the catwalk, the Soldier can tell that she is feeling her injuries.  She limps towards the computer, not even looking back at the Soldier.  The target has to know that the Soldier is going to fire again.  And when the Soldier does, she hits the target in the back, right through her lung.  Finally, the target goes down and stays down.  With a small smirk, the Soldier lowers her weapon.

But the Soldier was wrong.  Before she has time to raise her weapon again, the target has dragged herself upwards and installed a blade into the navigation computer.  The entire helicarrier shifts dramatically and it throws the Soldier to the ground.  As the Soldier gets to her feet, she catches a glimpse at the helicarrier to the left through the glass.  Its weapon arrays are turning and aiming right at her.  Before the Soldier can even react, the helicarrier shudders again, this time from being hit, and she’s thrown to the ground even harder.  The Soldier’s eyes go wide as a support strut come tumbling down on top of her, pinning her where she lies.

The Soldier screams in pain, straining against the heavy metal beam but utterly unable to move it from the way she is pinned.  The helicarrier shudders even harder and begins to tilt dangerously downward.  The wreckage is crumbling down around her, and the Soldier pants as it becomes harder and harder to breath with the heavy weight on her chest.  She’s trapped, and real fear is skittering up her spine.  To her left, there is a metallic thud and she spots her target rolling hard from a fall.  Come to finish the Soldier off, no doubt.

The Soldier continues to try to push the beam off of herself, more frantic now that the injured target is staggering towards her, blood staining her pristine uniform.

But the target stops just short of the Soldier, and she crouches down and strains as she begins to lift the beam off of the Soldier.  Desperate, the Soldier uses her metal arm to shimmy herself out of the small space created.  The target drops the beam and crumbles against it, panting, bleeding, dying.

“You know me,” the target gasps between wheezing breaths. 

The Soldier glares at the target over her shoulder, at those desperate blue eyes.  And for the shortest moment, she pauses.  Something in her core makes her freeze.  But she ignores it and turns, throwing a wild punch with her metal arm at the target’s shield, throwing the target backwards.

“No, I _DON’T!_ ” the Soldier roars, more to herself than to the target.

The target just hauls herself to her feet once again, still staring hard at the Soldier.  The Soldier can’t look at her eyes, she can’t bear to see those blue pinpoints searching her, so she drops her gaze.

“Bucky,” the target begs.  “You’ve known me your whole life.”

The Soldier shudders.  The way the target says that name, it makes her feel like it must be the Soldier’s.  But the Soldier has no name, has never had a name.  She screams again as she punches the target hard across the face.  An explosion throws them both backwards.

“Your name is _Jamie Buchanan Barnes_ ,” the target continues.

Sergeant Jamie Barnes, 107th—NO!  No.  The Soldier shakes her head hard, trying to get those words to leave.

“SHUT UP!” she screams desperately, throwing another punch. 

They both go to the ground.  But this time, when the target gets to her feet, she throws her masked helmet to the side.  Wild, sweat drenched blonde locks fall free around her face, stuck to her forehead and cheeks.  And the Soldier knows what that hair feels like between her fingers, when it’s soft and dry and spread across her chest like silk.

The Soldier growls, shaking her head hard again.

“I’m not gonna fight you,” the target pants as she drops her shield, which clatters to the floor before tumbling out the broken glass into the river below.  “You’re my friend.”

The Soldier ducks her head and charges, tackling the target to the ground.  The target doesn’t resist.  The Soldier pushes herself up, curling her fist in the target’s top.

“ _You’re my mission_ ,” she growls, raising her fist and bringing it down hard against the target’s face three times.  She feels the bones breaking beneath her metal knuckles, but the target’s head just rolls back, her body still motionless, unresisting.  So the Soldier continues to punch her, again and again and again.  Because she _wants_ Steph to react.  She needs her to.

Steph.

How does she know that name?  The Soldier’s fist freezes in midair and she shudders, staring down at the woman in her grip.

“Then finish it,” Steph whispers, voice breaking, face bruised. 

The Soldier still has her fist raised.  She pants, unsure what the sensation she is feeling is called.  It’s not anger.  It’s not fear.  It’s not confusion.  Yet it’s all of those things and more.

“Cuz I’m with you to the end of the line.”

Tears fill the Soldier’s vision.  She stares down at Steph but at the same time, she is on the stoop of a dilapidated apartment complex.  Her hand is on the bony shoulder of a small, blonde teenaged girl.  But it’s the same girl.  Steph.  Stephie.  There’s misery in her eyes both here and there. 

“I’m with you to the end of the line,” the Soldier feels her lips say, and as she does, she’s sitting in the pouring, frigid rain.  Dirt walls run with mud and water fills the trench, but they’re huddled together.  Steph is bigger, dressed in the same colorful uniform, an uncertain look on her face.

“Are you with me on this, Buck?” Steph asks.

Bucky glances back at her team, winking at Sam, who’s the closest. 

“Till the end of the line, pal,” Bucky tells Steph with a nod and a grin.

The scramble up the side of the trench, and they shuffle inside the cramped apartment, and the helicarrier collapses around them and Bucky loses her.  She’s finally got Steph back, after so _so long_ and the blonde slips through her fingers and plummets towards the murky water below.  The Soldier grips a broken strut with her metal arm, body swinging from the remains of the helicarrier.  Two entirely different lives flash before her eyes, and she doesn’t know which is real.

There’s a life full of love and laughter.  A life spent at Steph’s side.  It wasn’t easy, it was never easy, but it was _good_.  And then there’s the louder life, the one that is more pronounced and that it fighting harder to claim to be reality.  A life of pain and blood.  The life of a perfect weapon, in which the Soldier never has to make a hard decision, because there are no choice given to her.  The two twist around each other in the Soldier’s mind, before splintering.  Bucky stares down at a newspaper headline with tears in her eyes and she stares down at the same face splashing into the Potomac. 

“She let you, she forgot about you,” a stranger’s voice echoes through her mind.

The Soldier has a choice to make.  A choice between two lives.  A choice between the pain of remembering, or the bliss of being made to forget.  A choice between letting Steph fall, or trying to catch her.

“Not again,” Bucky breaths.  “I’m not losing you again.”

Bucky releases the strut.  Once again, she’s falling.  But this time, it’s to get Steph back.


	22. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back after a long break. Hope ya'll enjoy!

The Soldier can’t remember where she is, or how she got there.  She can’t even really remember who she is.  A name dances at the edge of her memory, but she isn’t sure if it’s her name.  The building around her is dilapidated, crumbling and water damaged.  Outside, she can hear sirens.  Her right shoulder aches, her left leg is fractured and she has several broken ribs.  But she knows that the fever burning through her will heal it all in time.  Until then, she huddles in the corner, sweating and panting.

In the small moments of clarity, she remembers that she is running away.  She can remember killing a man, the one who had come for her where she had hidden last, in an unused warehouse.  Her fingers run across the still bleeding wound on the arch of her hipbone.  She had tried to use a knife to dig the tracker out of the bone, but it had been buried too deep, too long embedded and healed over with layers of calcium due to her heightened healing factor.  She had had to use a pistol, held to the bleeding wound, and fired straight at the place where the tracker was still broadcasting her location.  She doesn’t know how she knew that it was there, but the realization had come to her when the Hydra agent had dropped his phone, a tracker open on the screen.

She can barely stand at the moment.  She has no idea how long she has been in this crumbling house.  Outside, the daylight is dying, the sun setting behind the trees. 

Memories come in small bursts, not all at once.  They’re not the memories that she wants.  They’re the memories of the Soldier.  Men, women, even children, crying and pleading for their lives as the Soldier guns them down, or slides a blade across their throat.  The memories are horrifying.  The horror isn’t what the Soldier had done—even though those deeds are horrific enough—but instead the absolute flattened apathy she had felt when she had done them.

She had felt _nothing_ when she had killed them, not even relief or victory of an accomplished mission.  Only base recognition of the fact that their hearts had stopped beating before she stepped away and forgot them all together.

Forgot them until today.

It’s those faces, their last words falling on deaf ears, that keeps the Soldier awake all night.  She shakes uncontrollably, from the pain and the fever and the nausea.  Every time she tries to reach back into her memory, there is only those faces.  She can’t possibly wade through them long enough to bring up a single recollection of who she is, or at least who she used to be. 

By morning, she feels a bit more lucid.  She can remember her name, at least.  But the memories of Bucky Barnes are no less painful.  She stands in a bar and watches as Steph’s obviously lust-blown eyes watch a put-together British woman in a red dress.  She curls around herself in a dripping canvas tent, the bleeding bullet wound beneath her fingers shrinking away with every hour that goes by as the now-too-familiar fever eats at her while Steph laughs and chatters with the other Soldiers outside.  She stands in a starchy green uniform in front of a tiny blonde girl who avoids her eyes.  She feels her feet leave the freight car and she’s falling, Steph’s outreached hand just not reaching far enough.  She sits in a tiny cell, naked and shivering in the oppressive cold, a red-faced guard slides the cell door open and—

Bucky rubs her eyes hard.  Are there no good memories in her long life to retreat to?  If there are, she can’t seem to find them. 

It’s mid-day and Bucky is Bucky, and she’s able to stand.  Her broken bones are healing, her bleeding wounds are closed.  She is able to stagger out of the rundown building and walk on unsteady feet until she finds a grocery store.  She breaks into the back, storage area, rummaging through boxes until she finds non-descript clothes that fit her.  She also finds a backpack, gloves, a notebook, food, a map, bottles of water, pain-killers, and other essentials.  She’s quiet enough, or the employees are aloof enough, that she’ not seen.  She deposits her old, damp, blood soaked clothes in a dumpster.  Dressed in jeans, a canvas jacket, a ball cap pulled low, and a glove over her metal hand, Bucky lets herself fall back on training as she darts out into the crowd.

DC is absolute chaos.  The heightened security—police on every corner, National Guard patrolling the streets, cleanup crews digging through the rubble of the crashed helicarriers for survivors—would deter anyone else.  But the Soldier thrives on chaos, so Bucky lets herself thrive on it too.  She finds it easy to not think, to just let some sort of pain ingrained instinct take over.  She picks pockets at first, grabbing wallets from unsuspecting civilians who are distracted by the melee.  Nobody notices her and in thirty minutes, she’s got twenty eight wallets stuffed inside her backpack.

She ducks into a gas station bathroom and starts going through them.  People don’t carry as much cash as they used to, but the Soldier knows that the ATM and credit cards can be traded.  All counted, she’s got $8,652 and some change.  She sorts through driver’s license until she finds one that looks enough like her.  All but one of the wallets, she flushes down the toilet.  She buries the remaining wallet, stuffed full with cash and cards, into the bottom of her backpack before slipping back out onto the street.

A shady part of town, a couple thousand dollars in bribes, and a few hours later, Bucky is in the basement of an apartment complex, in front of a small Latino man seated behind a government printer.  The Soldier’s traded the card numbers for some more cash, and she’s able to buy a passport and some ammunition.  All of it comes so naturally, and she doesn’t think twice when she needs to pull her pistol, or reveal her metal hand to make a threat to get what she wants.  She’s running on auto-pilot, no real plan in her mind, just following the steps on a checklist that she can’t remember learning, but knows like the back of her own hand. 

She still can’t remember who she is.

A cold reminder comes in the form of a muted news report on the small television in that apartment basement.

 _Sergeant Jamie Barnes the Winter Soldier?_ the scroll at the bottom reads as a blonde woman with a serious face speaks silently across the room.  A moment later, Bucky is staring at two pictures of herself.  One is in black and white, taken nearly a century ago.  The other was only taken yesterday, on the launch pad as she aims a rifle at a pilot. 

Without thinking, the Soldier grabs her purchases, along with a bag full of cash that sits at the man’s feet, and takes off.  He shouts.  People with guns try to stop her, but she throws them down the stairwell.  By nightfall, she’s back in that same crumbling house, huddled in the same corner, haunted by the same memories.

 

***

 

Sam’s been sitting by the bed of the Indestructible Woman for a day and a half.   Steph isn’t looking quite so indestructible at the moment.  But she sure looks a hell of a lot better than she did a few days ago. 

They had been certain that she was dead.  She had called for the helicarriers to fire while she was still inside, hell bent on saving the woman who was once her best friend that she had been willing to sacrifice herself to do it.  A homing device which monitored Steph’s vitals activated when her heartrate dropped dangerously.  They had found her on the bank of the Potomac, unconscious and badly injured. 

Collapsed lung, broken cheekbone and collarbone, multiple GSW’s, internal bleeding, damaged kidneys.  Close to death.  Certainly the Winter Soldier’s doing. 

For any other human being on earth, those injuries would have killed the person.  But Sam was assured that Steph’s body could handle it.  She wasn’t going to take their word for granted though.  Steph was in a coma, and Sam was going to be certain that she was going to be by Steph’s side the entire time, just in case the Winter Soldier decided to show up and finish the job.  Sam wasn’t sure exactly what she—a non-superperson—could do in that event, but she wasn’t going to let Steph go it alone again.

By now, everyone knew that the Winter Soldier was not only real, but, somehow, Jamie Buchanan Barnes, Captain America’s long-fallen best friend.  Why and how was a topic of heated debate on the 24-hour news networks that Sam kept playing in the background of the hospital room.  She’d turn up the volume every couple of hours, but she could only stand so fucking much of the back and forth, and usually it was on mute again within twenty minutes.

Steph had succeeded though.  Hydra was revealed to the world.  The Black Widow had dumped all of SHIELD’s and Hydra’s classified files onto the internet.  Most were still encrypted, but the information was still out there.  And there was a manhunt being conducted for the capture or killing of the Winter Solider.  Sam hoped beyond hope that they caught the bitch before Steph woke up.

It’s fitting that Troubleman is playing when Steph finally wakes up.  Sam is trying to read, but nearly nodding off when a weak voice mutters from the bed.

“On your left.”

Sam looks up and grins.  Steph offers a weak smile back.

“Making jokes already?” Sam pokes.

Steph sighs, winces at the pain it causes, and tries to push herself up in bed.

“Hey now, take it easy, girl,” Sam says, holding out an arm. 

Steph groans.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus…haven’t felt this way since 1940.”

“Well, actually, you were hit by a helicarrier.  So I’d say that’s an accurate assessment.”

Steph huffs a watery laugh.  Finally, she settles back in bed.  Sam pushes the nurse call button and minutes later, nurses and doctors swarm the room.  Steph lets them fuss over her with an annoyed look on her face.  The entire time, she stares up at the ceiling.  Even after the doctors and nurses finally leave her in peace, her eyes stay on the white stucco.  Sam settles back in her chair and levels Steph with a look.

“She saved me,” Steph says quietly, voice cracking.  She doesn’t move her eyes.

Sam chuckles wryly.

“Saved you?  Steph, look at what she did to you.”

Steph shakes her head, finally bringing her gaze down to Sam.

“That wasn’t her.  That was the Winter Soldier.  But I-…I got to her.”  Steph’s voice breaks and Sam sees her eyes grow watery.  “It was her.  It was Bucky.  And-and she went into the water and got me out.  I saw it.”

Sam rubs her eyes and groans. 

“Where did you find me?” Steph demands.

“What?”

“Where did you find me?   The last thing I remember is going in the water.  Right before I blacked out, I saw her.  I saw Bucky, reaching for me.  Where did you find me?  I assume not in the river, or I wouldn’t be in this hospital bed.  Not even I can survive drowning.”

Sam can hear the heartrate monitor rising, beeping insistently. 

“On the bank,” Sam replies weakly.  “You were on the bank of the Potomac.  About-…about a mile downstream from the crash.”

Steph squirms, suddenly looking like she plans to jump out of the bed, trying to hide her winces of pain.

“Where is she now?” Steph demands.  “Where’s Bucky?”

Sam gets to her feet and pushes Steph back into the bed. 

“I don’t know.  Nobody knows.  Nobody has seen her.  They’re looking for her though, the police.  Her and all the other Hydra agents in DC.”

“No, the police can’t be the ones to find her, I have to be,” Steph insist, shoving Sam’s hand away.

“Steph, you’ve done enough,” Natasha’s honey laced voice comes from the door.  She strides into the room, coming to stand at the foot of Steph’s bed, arms crossed.  Sam has never seen anybody so small looking so imposing before. 

“ _Nat_ ,” Steph pleads weakly.

“Steph.  Let me.”

Steph huffs but finally falls back against her pillows. 

“I have contacts.  I know where to start.  I know how to find people who don’t want to be found,” Natasha continues.  “I’ll find her.”

“What-…what if Hydra has her again?” Steph asks, voice breaking.  “What if I lost her again?”

Natasha shakes her head. 

“They don’t,” she assures Steph.

“How do you know?!”

“Because if they did, I would know.  Fury and Hill have a line on every agent in DC.  They’ve brought the rest of the Amazons in.  They’ve already started tracking Hydra down.  The FBI, the CIA, the police, they’re all after the remaining Hydra cells.  None of the agents on the East Coast have her.”

Natasha moves closer to the head of Steph’s bed, face going kind.

“You did it, Steph,” Natasha says softly.  “You got to her, and she got away.  We’ll find her.  I promise.”

Steph nods miserably, eyes going back to the ceiling as she looks like she wills herself not to cry.

Natasha reaches down and squeezes Steph’s non-injured shoulder gently before turning and strutting out of the room.  Sam and Steph are left in silence until Steph notices the television across the room.

“Turn it up,” Steph requests numbly, eyes on the words “BUCKY BARNES ALIVE?” on the banner across the bottom of the screen.

“You should get some sleep,” Sam replies.

Steph shakes her head.

“Steph, there’s nothing you can do when you’re hurt.  You almost died.  You deserve some goddam sleep.”

A small smile tugs at Steph’s lips. 

“I’ll make you a deal, Wilson,” Steph begins.  “If you can get me a goddam piece of steak and some ice cream, then I’ll go to sleep.”

Sam smiles this time.

“Sounds like a deal, Rogers.”

 

 

***

 

 

My name is Jamie Buchanan Barnes.

My name is Bucky Barnes.

Bucky Barnes.

The Soldier stares down at the words on the paper.  They feel so foreign, like they are written in an entirely different language.  She bites her lip and lowers the pencil to the paper.

Bucky Barn-

She presses so hard on the pencil that the end snaps.  Cursing, she throws the pencil away from her and rummages in her bag for another writing tool.  As soon as her fingers close around the plastic of a pen, she feels suddenly dizzy.

The Soldier looks around her.  She’s in the crumbling remains of what once was a home.  Water logged furniture and garbage from squatters litters the damp remains.  She can’t remember who she is or how she got here.  She glances down at her arm, stuck inside a backpack.  Her gaze continues downward to the open notebook in front of her.  Carefully, she uses her other hand to flip to the first page.

Bucky Barnes

Jamie Barnes

Jamie Buchanan Barnes

My name is Barnes

Bucky Barnes

She reads it slowly and forces herself to remember.  Right.  Bucky Barnes.  She pulls the pen out of the bag, turning to a blank page. 

My mother’s name is

Bucky pauses and tries hard to remember her mother.  She can remember the outlines of a kind face, a soft smile. 

 _Winnie_ , she writes.  Suddenly her father’s name comes to her as well.  She quickly writes it before it slips away.

George Barnes.

She can remember her parents in front of her, smiling down at her.  She turns and looks at what can only be a reflection.  But she knows it isn’t.

Becky Barnes.

Her sister.  Her _twin_ sister.  Bucky stares down at the words and her eyes begin to cloud.  Her family.  They’re probably all dead now.

Everyone Bucky knows is dead now.

“ _No_ ,” she breaths. 

She gets to her feet suddenly, bringing her notebook with her.  There’s someone else.  Somebody who is still here.  Swallowing hard, she slings her bag and is walking out of the house.  Someone else.  In DC.  Steph.  She had _just seen_ Steph.  It was just…how long had it been?  Absentmindedly, she feels at her hip, at the healed over wound there.  It’s at least a week old.

It’s not long before she emerges from the woods out onto a busy street.  She ducks her head, pulling her ball cap down, and hurries along the narrow walkway.  Her destination is still a mystery to her, but she is pretty sure she is headed towards the last place she saw Steph.  She _has_ to see Steph again.  She _has_ to.

And just like that, the next time Bucky risks a glance up, there she is.  Steph, grinning as wide as always, dresses in her red, white and blue uniform, staring up and to the right heroically.

“WELCOME BACK CAPTAIN AMERICA!” the banner reads. 

Bucky just stares.  The bustling crowd around her jostles past but Bucky’s feet are rooted to the concrete.  She isn’t even sure if she’s breathing.  In fact, it feels as if her heart has simply stopped.  She stares up at the banner, memorizing every single line, every angle, every hair.  She licks her suddenly dry lips, realizing that she is about to cry.  So she ducks her chin and swallows the lump in her throat before turning and darting inside the building from which the banner hangs.

It’s crowded inside the lobby of the museum.  The people around Bucky are talking about the hellicarriers, about Hydra, about Captain America, about-….her.  She hears her name and wills herself not to turn and stare at the speaker because it’s clear they aren’t speaking to her.

“…Jamie Barnes is behind the whole thing,” a man with perfectly jelled hair is saying to his companion.  “I hear they’re going to take down her memorial inside the exhibit.”

Bucky pulls her cap down lower and wades through the crowd to get some distance between her and the man.  There’s a line at the entrance to the Captain America exhibit.  Everything is so surreal the Bucky feels like she is walking through a dream.  She knows that she is inside a museum, and that there is an exhibit about _Steph_ , and that somehow, Bucky Barnes is a part of it.  The only exhibits Bucky can remember seeing were about dinosaurs.

She gets into the line and keeps her head down.  There’s a security guard at the entrance and Bucky avoids his gaze even though he’s so old and small there is no way he could pose a threat to her.  When she gets to him, he smiles wide and greets her in a loud voice, holding something out to her.  Bucky almost runs, but she forces herself to hold out her hand and take whatever it is being offered.  She stuffs it inside her pocket and bustles inside even though everyone else is being handed the same thing.  Once she had found a dark corner, she pulls the thick paper out and looks down at it.

It’s the size of a postcard and on the front is that same picture of Steph that was on the banner.  Wide smile, bright eyes and Bucky’s heart twists inside of her chest when she looks at it.  She flips the card over to find a block of writing.

_Captain Stephanie "Steph" Grant Rogers is a Super Soldier, World War II veteran, and the world's first superhero. Born in Brooklyn, New York City, the young Steph Rogers suffered numerous health problems, at upon America's entry into the Second World War, was rejected from military service despite several attempts to enlist. Determined to serve, she ultimately volunteered for a top-secret Super-Soldier program, and the frail Steph Rogers was transformed into the powerful and heroic Captain America. Her famous World War II exploits made her a living legend. Rogers attacked multiple HYDRA quarters with the Howling Commandos to the dismay of her greatest enemy, the Red Skull. Despite losing her closest friend, Sergeant Bucky Barnes_

Bucky chokes when she reads her name.  Quickly blinking tears out of her eyes, she continues to read.

_…during a mission, Rogers carried on to help the Allies win the war, but crashed into the Arctic during her final mission. Awakening in the 21st century, Rogers learned that she had spent 67 years trapped in the glacial ice._

Sixty seven years in glacial ice?  Bucky’s heart rate has hitched as she tries to wrap her mind around the information she is reading.  Sixty seven years.  She isn’t certain on the exact time line, but the memory that hurts the most is one of herself, staring down at a headline.  “CAPTAIN AMERICA DEAD.”  It had broken her, it had destroyed Bucky Barnes, evacuated her body and mind and allowed the Winter Soldier to take control.  Steph had been dead.  And Bucky had wanted simply to follow her to the grave.  But then on the bridge…seeing Steph alive…Hydra’s control of Bucky’s mind and body had its cornerstone in Steph’s death.  Bucky had been struggling to understand all week how it was even possible that Steph could be alive.  And now, here it was: frozen in ice for almost seventy years.  Bucky wipes her eyes and struggles to find her place.

_Upon awakening in a new century, Captain America took up her shield once again to lead the Amazons in the defense of New York City against an alien attack._

_Captain America has inspired generations of young people to fight against oppression for what is right.  She has stood as a representation of the American values of justice and equality for nearly a century and we here at the Smithsonian have hoped to capture the essence of not only Captain America, but also of Stephanie Rogers, the woman behind the shield.  We hope you enjoy your visit to the “Welcome Back, Captain America” Exhibit!_

 Bucky stands very still, mind spinning as she tries to fit this information into her broken mental schemata.  Very carefully, she folds the cardstock and puts it into one of her pockets that zips, keeping her hand flat over that pocket as a way to ground herself as she looks up at the display set in front of her.

A voice over rattles off facts about Captain America over the din of the crowd, but Bucky can hardly concentrate on it.  She instead stares at the very first part of the exhibit—a life size statue of Captain America in the all-too-familiar uniform, punching the Red Skull in the face.  Bucky stares at the face of the Red Skull.  She remembers that face, surrounded by smoke and fire, scowling at her from across a retracted catwalk.

“You don’t have one of those, do you?” Bucky says out loud.  She looks around quickly to make sure that nobody has heard her and forces herself to hurry past the sculpture. 

Beyond is a walk through the life of Stephanie Rogers.  It begins with lit up glass, printed to look like 1920’s Brooklyn.  There’s a birth certificate and a badly faded picture of a blonde woman holding a baby. 

“Sarah,” Bucky whispers. 

Next are medical charts and histories, a brief explanation of young Rogers’ many ailments.  The exhibit breezes through them without a mention of the many days and nights Steph spent in the hospital.  Or of the endless winters spent in bed, with Bucky beside her weakened frame, using gentle hands to help her into a sitting position so she can cough some of the fluid out of her lungs.  There’s no mention of this, but Bucky can suddenly remember it all.  Steph, always so close to death, one bad day away from a grave.  Sarah, long suffering, struggling to make ends meet and afford the medical care Steph needed.  The exhibit doesn’t talk about how in the summer, when Steph was strong enough to leave the house, she was constantly starting fights and getting into scraps that Bucky would have to bail her out of.  And when Bucky thinks of that, she is hit in the chest with a memory.

_“Hey, assholes!” Bucky shouts, running towards the melee of boys who are shoving a tiny, frail looking blonde girl around.  “Pick on someone your own size!”_

_Bucky was always a tomboy, to the bane of her parents.  She’s only ten years old, but she loves picking fights.  Becky was always the girly one anyway, what did her parents need two feminine twins for?  So when she draws even with the biggest boy, the punches him square in the teeth.  He staggers back, hands held up to his bleeding lips and nose.  Bucky rounds on the other two._

_“Stay out of it, Barnes!” one of the boys shouts.  “This ain’t your business.”_

_“Well I just made it my business, didn’t I, Lewis?” Bucky sneers.  “What kinda business includes beatin’ on a little girl?”_

_“She started it!” Lewis defends._

_“Yeah, you guys are real tough,” Bucky snaps, taking a large step to put herself between them and the blonde.  “You wanna try beatin’ on someone, why don’cha test your chances with me!”_

_The two boys exchange long looks._

_“You ain’t worth it Barnes.  Everybody knows your daddy is a drunk who fights for money,” Lewis spits before turning away._

_Bucky should have better impulse control, her mother is always chastising her for it, but she doesn’t.  She charges at Lewis and knees him in the gut.  When he doubles over, she puts her boot to his ass and kicks him to the ground._

_“You wanna talk about my daddy?!” she screams, rounding on the last standing boy with a raised fist._

_He shakes his head and turns to run away, not even waiting for his friends.  Limping and bleeding, the other two follow, talking to each other in low angry voices.  Bucky spits and makes an obscene gesture before turning back around.  She bends to pick up a book that’s been dropped on the ground, holding it out to the blonde who is staring up with her with wide blue eyes._

_“This yours?” Bucky asks, waving the book a bit._

_The blonde reaches out for it._

_“You shouldn’t say asshole,” the blonde retorts, brushing her blonde curls over her shoulders and hugging the book to her chest._

_Bucky just laughs._

_“Yeah, well, you shouln’ be startin’ fights with three boys twice your size,” Bucky replies._

_The blonde looks at the ground, face pinched with anger and sadness._

_“They said my pa wasn’t a hero, that he probably died so he didn’t have to come take care of me,” she says in a strained voice._

_“Was your pa in the war?” Bucky asks._

_The blonde nods, refusing to look up._

_“Then he’s a hero in my book,” Bucky says with a shrug._

_The girl looks up at Bucky with shining eyes.  She opens her mouth so say something.  Bucky is sure she’s about to cry.  But suddenly her expression changes.  She snaps her mouth shut and puts on a steely, brave look willing herself not to cry.  And Bucky respects her for it._

_“What’s your name?”_

_“Rogers,” the blonde replies.  “My ma calls me Steph, though.”_

_“Well Steph, I’m Bucky, and my ma calls me Bucky.”_

Bucky takes a shuddering breath, again looking around to see if anyone is paying any attention to her.  She pinches the bridge of her nose before pulling her cap down even lower.  The exhibit continues.  And with each section, more memories stampede their way into Bucky’s mind.  High school, Sarah’s passing, art school.  Bucky spends far too long in the art school section, because it’s full of art.  Sketches and paintings, done by Steph at various points in her life.  There’s childish drawings of houses and cars.  There’s sketches of Sarah, of the apartment building, of a park.  There’s charcoals on scraps of paper, cigarette cartons, and used envelopes of scenes of war—barren fields, bombed out cities, muddy trenches, soldiers with cigarettes between their lips and far away stares in their eyes—all perfectly captured and lifelike. 

There’s even a sketch of Bucky and seeing it makes her almost double over.  Because she _knows_ it’s of her, she can remember Steph drawing it, the soothing familiar sound of pencil on paper.  The placard beside it even says Bucky’s name.  But the face on that worn piece of paper is not the face that Bucky sees in the mirror today.  It’s the face of someone else entirely, a life time ago.  She’s sitting cross legged on a bed, hair short and rustled, smiling wider than Bucky can ever remember smiling.  Steph drew it when they were just teenagers, before the war, before they both died and came back to life, before Bucky became the Winter Soldier and Steph became Captain America.  Bucky contemplates breaking the glass and taking the picture.  She stands in front of the case for a long time, metal fist clenched.  But she can’t draw attention to herself, so she forces herself to turn away.

Next is the war, the serum, the miraculous transformation.  The exhibit indulges itself here, an entire section on the first and (supposedly) last Super Soldier.  Bucky hustles through this part.  She’s growing increasingly anxious and her head is beginning to throb.  It’s too much too fast, and she wants to get to the end of the exhibit.  So she puts her head down and pushes through the crowd, past the part about the war, about the movies, about the Howling Commandos.  She wants to stop and remember her squad, she wants to stand and stare up at the uniforms on the mannequins in front of a regal looking mural.  She wants to stare at her own face, and at the faces of her fellow Commandos.  But every memory revealed causes her head to hurt even more until it feels as if it might burst. 

So she navigates through the crowd until it becomes too thick.  She has to look up because there is a commotion in front of her.  A circle of people, some of them shouting.  Bucky shoulders her way through to figure out what they are looking at.

It’s a slab of glass, a memorial.  Carved on it is the face of Bucky Barnes.  Bucky stares at it slack jawed for a moment.  There’s barriers around it, a guard beside it, and the people in the crowd are shouting that it should be removed.

“She’s a butcher!  The memorial needs to come down!” someone shouts.

Bucky looks around—there are people with their phones up, cameras, taking pictures and posting them online.  She can’t be here, everyone in this crowd wants the Winter Soldier’s head.  They’re here because they want to smash the memorial, they want to erase Sergeant Barnes from Captain America’s history, they want to feel like they are doing _something_ to combat the traitor, the murderer, the betrayer. 

Bucky looks for emergency exit signs.  She spots one down the hall and she tucks her chin and tries to wade through the crowd as calmly as possible, not wanting to draw attention.  She breaks free of the mass of bodies and her pace quickens.  But just as her fingers reach out for the handle of the door, a body collides with hers, forcing her back and through a different door.

Bucky detaches herself from her assaulter.  A flash of red hair turns and shuts and locks the door behind them.  They’re in an empty and dark exhibit room, unused at the moment.  Bucky falls automatically into a fighting stance as the redhead turns back around to face her. 

“ _Widow_ ,” Bucky snarls.

She knows this one, she’s seen her before, but Bucky has no idea what her actual name is.  But that doesn’t matter now, because Bucky knows that this woman is a Black Widow, and she is here to either capture or kill her.  So Bucky charges.

The Widow dances out of reach, but Bucky is quick and she turns, swinging hard.  The Widow ducks out of her reach before landing a hard kick at Bucky’s gut, arch of her foot meeting the still healing wound on Bucky’s hip.  Bucky winces and lets the pain drive her in for another attack.

“Stop!  Stop!” the Widow hisses, throwing up her hands.  “I’m not here to hurt you!”

Bucky charges.  The Widow doesn’t resist, she lets herself be pinned to the wall.

“Then what are you doing here?!” Bucky snarls.

“I knew you’d come here eventually,” the Widow replies.  “Not a smart move, but I figured you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“What do you want from me?” Bucky retorts, not letting up.

“I’ve been where you’re at right now,” the redhead replies.  “I think you know who I am.”

“You’re a Black Widow,” Bucky growls.  “I remember you.  The Red Room.”

“And Odessa,” the redhead says, cocking her head.

Bucky takes a shaky breath.  The memory is incredibly hazy.

“You work for SHIELD now,” Bucky breaths, still struggling to remember.  “You’re here to arrest me.”

“No,” the Widow says.  “I’m here because I’m a friend of Steph’s.”

Bucky drops her arms and takes a step back.  The Widow rolls her shoulders, taking carefully steps to the side to block Bucky from the exit.  Bucky lets her, breathing carefully through her nose.

“I’m not going to see her,” Bucky snaps.  “I-I can’t.  Not after-after everything that I did.”  Bucky shakes her head hard.  “Not after what I did to her on the helicarrier.”

“I’m not here to take you to Steph,” the Widow replies.  “Like I said, I’ve been where you’re at right now.”  She drops a backpack from her shoulders.  Bucky falls into a defensive position, eyes on the bag. 

“ _Easy_ ,” the Widow warns, slowly going to a knee in order to reach into the bag.  Bucky keeps her eyes on her, ready for a weapon, but instead she pulls out a file.  The Widow holds it out to Bucky.  Bucky’s eyes flick between her and the file, suspicious. 

“I know what it’s like,” the Widow reassures.  “To have your mind stolen from you.  To fight so hard to get it back.  And I know what you’re feeling right now.  The memories hurt.  Knowing the things that you’ve done, that _they made you do_.  You can’t take any of it back.  The guilt is…crushing you right now, isn’t it?”  Bucky just takes shallow breaths, trying hard not to let her emotions read on her face.  “And you keep thinking that you shouldn’t have broken free.  Because they made you _forget_.  And that was _so much_ easier.  It was a blessing, to forget.  You probably hate yourself for thinking that, for almost wanting to go back to the way things were.  But it doesn’t change the fact that it was easier then.  You didn’t have to feel this way.  You didn’t have this guilt driving you to the brink of insanity.  Am I right?”

Bucky bites her lip and swallow hard, nodding ever so slightly as she tries to will the tears in her eyes away.

“I’m here because I know that you can’t go back to Steph.  Not yet.  Steph is my friend, but she’s naive.  She thinks that if you just go back to her, things will go back to the way they were.  But they can never go back, _you_ can never go back,” the Widow continues softly, still holding the file out as an offering.  “You can’t look her in the eye until you’re sure that you won’t hurt her again.”

Bucky isn’t able to stop the tears and the well up and tumble down her cheeks.  She sniffs and shudders, nodding at the file.

“What is that?” Bucky asks in a hoarse voice. 

“Redemption,” the Widow replies, slowly getting to her feet.  “A way to take back control.  You can’t ever go back to being Sergeant Jamie Barnes, Captain America’s sidekick.  That woman died the day she fell from the train.  But you can be someone else.  You _can_ forge a new life for yourself, a new identity.  You can rediscover who you are, who Bucky Barnes is.  And you can make sure that the people who killed you never have that chance again.”

Bucky licks her lips and reaches for the file.  She flips it open cautiously.

“All of Hydra’s secrets were dumped onto the internet,” the Widow says.  “Most are encrypted.  I decoded those there, which means you’ll have a head start.”

Bucky looks up at the Widow with confused eyes.

“You want me to take down the rest of Hydra?” Bucky breaths.

The Widow nods slowly.

“Who better?” the redhead asks.  “Who better to destroy them than the Winter Soldier, the fist of Hydra, the weapon that they created to use against the world turned back on them?”

Bucky stares down at the file, her heart rate suddenly jumping.  This is a purpose, a mission, something she can work towards and accomplish.  Destroying every prison that held her, every lab that cut into her, every person who worked to wipe away her identity year after year.  Already, her headache is gone and her mind is working.  Instead of the aimless spinning of the last week, the pained memories of the past, Bucky now has a goal, a future, one that she _knows_ she can accomplish. 

“You won’t tell Steph that you found me?” Bucky asks, looking up at the Widow.

The redhead just shakes her head slowly before kicking the backpack across the floor to Bucky.  Bucky goes to one knee and yanks it open.

“Everything you’ll need,” the Widow explains.  “Get out of the country.  In the binder is a list of contacts who can help you.  All the usual protocols apply.  Use all of that _fucking_ information that they forced into your head to take them down.  Steph can wait, and she will wait.  You know that right?” Bucky looks up to find the Widow staring at her with a serious look.  “Steph would wait for you until the world stopped.  She’s waited this long for you.”

“She has?” Bucky asks.

The Widow nods solemnly.  Bucky swallows hard.

“But you’re not ready yet, and she can wait a little longer,” the Widow says.

With that, the Widow turns and walks back towards the door.

“Widow!” Bucky calls after her.

The redhead turns.

“You can call me Nat,” she says with a nod.

“Nat,” Bucky breaths.  “Thank you.”

Nat nods again, and then she’s gone.  Bucky shoves the file inside the bag and zips it shut.

Bucky has spent the last week in the past, haunted and dragged down by horrific or painful memories. 

It’s about high time that she makes some new ones.    


End file.
